


Intentions

by DealingDearie



Category: Forever (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 46,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4037596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DealingDearie/pseuds/DealingDearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After four months of enduring Locked-In Syndrome, Adam's body finally gives out. When Henry learns of his return, he fears for the safety of Abe and Jo, but Adam seems as if he means them no harm. Henry, suspicious, believes Adam is a threat to his entire way of life and everyone in it, and he could very well be right. Could Adam have a place on Team Morgan, or will he be Henry's eternal bane?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Henry listened to the whir of the machines surrounding Adam’s bed, counting each sigh of the ventilator, staring curiously up at the ceiling and counting the tiles there just as he imagined Adam had done many times before; there was hardly anything else to look at. The white sheets seemed far too bright when Henry at last returned his attention to Adam, who lay prone upon the mattress, pillows stuffed beneath and around him so that he was angled in a different position to avoid sores.

 It was, coincidentally, the most convenient position Henry had seen him placed in, since it allowed Adam to glare completely at Henry in his bedside seat rather than merely glaring out of the corner of his eye. His fury was far more evident when his entire gaze could be seen. Henry, slightly uncomfortable after nearly five minutes of tense silence, cleared his throat and shifted in the cushioned chair the nurse had finally brought in, after his fifth visit.

She’d given him a sympathetic look that he suspected she offered frequently, and had rushed away to exchange the creaky wooden chair that had been there previously with one meant for long hours spent seated. He’d almost wanted to tell her that there was no need for her sympathy, but he hadn’t wanted to explain himself and had quietly accepted her kindness.

It had been four months since Adam had shot Henry, since he’d paralyzed the fellow immortal, and since Jo had discovered his secret. Jo had been shocked, this Henry could recall distinctly; he could picture her incredulous expression as Abe told her stories, could hear her suspicious questions, and could still see the spark of revelation in her eyes after a long night of explanations and honesty. Since then, their relationship, if one could call it that, had been significantly easier.

Without Jo angrily seeing through that thin veil of half-plausible excuses that he always used to cover his secrets, she was a lot more trusting of him and a lot more open about her own past; it was a welcome change.

Despite a small part of Henry’s mind adamantly protesting the idea, Henry eventually decided to update Adam on casework and how Abe and Jo were getting along now that they shared the knowledge of his immortality, attempting to make Adam’s torture just a little interesting. He almost felt guilty; he could hardly imagine the anguish of being paralyzed and completely aware for the better part of eternity, but Adam had gone too far. There were people in Henry’s life that he’d needed to protect, that were his priority, and if Adam had to suffer for them to be safe, then so be it. He couldn’t tell if Adam enjoyed his small talk; he couldn’t really glean anything from Adam’s glassy stare at all, but it didn’t deter him.

 He was just about to tell Adam how Jo had tripped on the edge of a rug and fallen harmlessly into a cabinet that had housed a century-old vase, causing it to tumble out and shatter across the floor, when the sympathetic nurse gently knocked on the door and stepped softly in, smiling politely. Henry glanced up, but he thought he saw Adam’s eyes dart in her direction for just a moment. The nurse leaned carefully against the wall, her blonde hair swept up in a bun that didn’t want to stay atop her head.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Morgan, but visiting hours are over,” she lamented. Henry turned to look outside, seeing the darkening sky, and was surprised by how quickly the time had passed.

“Thank you, Angie,” he replied as he turned back to smile at her, nodding in goodbye as she soundlessly slipped out of the room. Henry stood and adjusted his scarf, hoping his clothes weren’t too wrinkled after sitting for so long, and scooted the chair out of the way so that Angie wouldn’t have to move it.

“Until next week, then. I’m sure I’ll have more stories,” Henry murmured as he tugged on his jacket, waving half-heartedly to Adam as he passed by the bed and walked out.

By the time he made it into the parking lot, Jo was impatiently leaning against the steering wheel of her car in her usual parking spot, unable to keep herself from smirking as Henry got in the car, despite his tardiness.

“You know,” she teased, “you’d think after visiting him once a week, you would have figured out when visiting hours end.” She started the car and hastily turned on the air conditioning, fanning herself in a feeble attempt to cool her reddened face. Henry licked his lips and smiled in that odd way of his, a gesture she was starting to rather enjoy seeing, as she pulled out of the lot and onto the road.

“Ready to shop for some clothes?” she asked mockingly, reminding him of a running joke she’d started with Abe.

When the chill of winter had started to fade, they’d both traded in their heavy coats and gloves for light t-shirts and shorts, but Henry had only abandoned his coat; he still wore his elaborate suits and was rarely seen without a scarf. Jo had laughingly implied that he didn’t own any regular clothes as they were eating dinner one night, and the idea had stuck around for nearly two weeks now.

Henry sighed and shook his head, staring out the window at the green of the trees blurring past.

 .....

Back in his hospital room, Angie repositioned Adam on his back, and he stared blankly at the ceiling until she left, uncomfortably warm due to the increasing humidity of the coming night but completely incapable of tossing the heavy sheets away.

Outside his window, stars were beginning to faintly twinkle in the sky, peeking out at him from their dark spaces. He stared at them for the longest time, just barely managing to keep them in his field of peripheral vision; the memory that they beckoned nearly made him forget where he was, nearly made him forget the false weightlessness of his body.

He almost didn’t hear the monitors as they began to sound a shrill alarm.

Angie rushed in, and his eyes shifted their focus to the long locks of blonde that had finally come unpinned, trailing behind her, as she ran to his bedside, and to his doctor running in with his lab coat flying behind him as more nurses pulled some cart in, shouting frantic orders.

Everything around him was blurring, people morphing into indistinct shapes in the background, and Adam recognized it. The pain blossomed in his chest for a brief moment, and it was so familiar to him that he would have laughed, if able; Angie’s bright eyes came into view for only a second, and then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Viskey HeroMouse over on fanfiction.net for helping me fine tune my ideas.

_Eight_

_His childish, determined curiosity was heightened each time she entered the room. She was a girl with a shy, downturned face that never caught the light, dark red hair falling in front of those eyes he wished to look into; he wondered if he could meet her gaze and know her thoughts, wondered if he could find a friend in the chaos of his household. With the constant disapproval of his father and the loud absence of his mother, with the rush of competition and offense he felt around his brothers, Vitus wondered if he might find a kindred soul._

_He didn't know her name; he shouldn't have even thought of her. She was one of the luckier slaves in that she worked in the home rather than labored and toiled beneath the hot sun outside, but she seemed so melancholy. It was impossible to earn her attention, impossible to look at her for any longer than a single moment, a turn of his head as he pretended to gaze intently at something across the room; his father seemed to be ever-watchful._

_Only when his father and brothers went to visit Julius, an old friend, in Rome and deemed his presence unnecessary was he left to his own devices._

_On his first occasion alone, the older slaves didn't mind him all that much; he followed them as they worked in the kitchen until he found the girl. She cast her gaze away as she sat sewing, and Vitus kneeled down to glance up at her, stepping on his tunic but hardly caring._

_"Will you avoid me?" he spoke softly, and as a naïve child he couldn't possibly know what she had experienced, couldn't know how frightened she had been when she first was sold to his family, couldn't know how frightened she might always be. When she didn't answer him, he leaned back and watched her, titling his head with interest; the other slaves walked around him as they performed their assigned tasks._

_"I won't harm you," he tried again, and her fingers stilled at his words. She lifted her head, and as her hair parted back he could see slivers of tan skin._

_"I only wish to have a friend," he explained carefully, terrified of ruining the progress he'd just made by gaining her focus. She raised her slender hand and tucked her hair behind her ears, and Vitus was staring into blue eyes as bright as the sea's water he'd admired from the cliff top outside his village. The slave girl squinted suspiciously at him, but he offered his hand to her, regardless._

_"My name is Vitus," he murmured, completely oblivious to the slaves around him, who had stopped their work the moment he had spoken of friendship. The girl placed the material in her lap, her tools ignored, and stared at his outstretched hand, thinking._

_After a long moment of silence, she placed her hand in his, the corners of her lips turning upward._

_"My name is Aeliana," replied the girl lowly, and Vitus had never grinned so freely, nor had he been so honored to be the reason for someone's smile._

...

"I feel like we should go out tonight," Jo murmured as she spooned vanilla ice cream into two bowls, and Henry laughed as she came around the kitchen island to hand him one and take a seat beside him on the sofa, tucking her bare feet beneath her.

"It's late," he responded teasingly, eating a spoonful of ice cream and wincing slightly at the chill of it against his teeth as Jo grabbed the remote and flipped through several channels, tilting her head in disinterest until she found a rerun of an old 90's sitcom and, shrugging to herself, set the remote down on the sofa arm. Henry leaned forward to pick up a manila folder from the coffee table, setting his bowl down in its place, and he sighed as he opened it, still puzzled after weeks of investigations. Jo caught a glimpse of a gruesome picture out of the corner of her eye and frowned, licking the ice cream off her spoon and placing the bowl near Henry's.

"Since when did we start doing illegal things?" Jo asked, gesturing to the folder full of case files and interview records and crime scene photos that belonged at the police station rather than the detective's own home. Henry shrugged, smirking as he flipped through the reports, searching for something he might have missed before.

"Legality has always been a choice for me, really," he quipped, glancing up to catch sight of that playful grin of hers she'd been using more and more in recent months; the pre-recorded laughter of the sitcom's audience broke the silence as it emanated from the television's speakers, and Jo shifted in her seat, moving to grab a file from his hands. Her eyes scanned it, but she sighed and shook her head, handing it back to him.

"Honestly, we've pored over these files so much that I can't see how we missed anything," she lamented as she retrieved her ice cream, but only stared at it, melting within its bowl, concerned with the mystery surrounding their latest case.

Three weeks ago, they'd begun an investigation surrounding the murder of an antique shop owner. Abe hadn't known the man personally, but, being one who constantly updates his knowledge of his competition, had known of the store and they'd all been significantly spooked for a better part of the month, worried that someone might decide to break into antique shops nearby, as well, but nothing else had come of the ordeal.

The only problems with the investigation was that the owner, whose throat was cut, had been too old-fashioned to have security cameras installed, there weren't any prints, and nothing was stolen-that they could see. The glass of most of the cases had been broken, and an old ledger, along with a few knives and vases, had been knocked to the floor. They hadn't been able to trace any illegal movement so far; nothing suspicious had been reported, had been passed through any hands, or had been sold at any auctions. There were no witnesses; the store had been closing, and business was never all that great in that corner of town, anyway.

It seemed like a dead end; Henry, of course, was determined.

He set the files in his lap, temporarily defeated, and turned to look at Jo; she didn't notice his movement, since she'd become absorbed in the show before them.

After telling Jo his secret, and after having to prove it to her when she wasn't expecting it so that she wouldn't act as Nora had so many years ago, Jo had finally come around to believing him. It was certainly a shock, and the first week consisted of her constantly asking him if she'd been dreaming, Abe inviting her over for dinner and winking at Henry when her head was turned, more stories than he thought he'd ever tell, and her gradual return to whole-hearted trust. For Henry, that week was also full of secret looks he exchanged with Lucas when no one else was around in the lab, both of them hoping the dagger became a topic no one ever spoke of.

He had prided himself on staying distant from that case, but now with the new murder, it was already an irrelevant mistake in his past.

It allowed him to focus on the present, and that meant Jo, Abe, and maintaining the secret of his immortality.

The present was, also, his relationship with Jo that had taken a surprising, welcome turn. He had started spending nights at her house, taking her out to eat, exploring the city with her. They'd certainly grown closer, and Abe had started making up excuses as to why Henry had to go over to Jo's house. So far, he'd explained that there wasn't any food to cook in the house, forcing Henry and Jo to go grocery shopping together since Abe had simultaneously pretended to be too sick to drive (that stunt had forced Henry and Jo in a car together each morning and each night for at least five days).

Henry knew what Abe was doing, and Jo most likely did, too, but neither minded.

The clink of Jo's spoon against the ceramic bowl pulled Henry out of his reverie, and he glanced up to stare at her as she finished off her ice cream, her cheeks still flushed from the late-night heat; she'd put on a thin tank top and shorts in an effort to evade the warmth, and the ice cream had probably helped just a bit, but the air was still just a bit stifling, so much so that Henry had even left his scarf at Abe's. Jo had proclaimed the act a victory and said that the next step was wearing a t-shirt.

Now, with his own cheeks reddened, he was almost regretting the thick shirt he was wearing, fashion be damned. He didn't tell her this, obviously; it would only prove her right. She smiled mockingly at him, as if reading his mind, and he set the files back down on the table and picked up the bowl, finishing the ice cream as they watched the show in comfortable, relaxed silence.

Henry planned to suggest a restaurant he'd been wanting to try once the show was over. 


	3. Chapter 3

_ Twelve _

_“You seem distracted, Vitus,” Julius reprimanded as he watched Vitus’ brothers throw grapes at one another, laughing and hoping their stoic father wouldn’t notice them from his seat at the end of the table. Vitus, woken from his reverie, glanced up at the man, shrugging._

_“Don’t I always?” he asked quietly, and Julius turned in his seat at the table, sending a puzzled gaze at Vitus’ plate of untouched food._

_“While that may be true, you always eat your meals. What troubles you?” he asked, the ghost of concern carried in his voice. He’d always had a soft spot for the boy; his friend of fourteen years hadn’t been the greatest father to Vitus, so he’d taken on the responsibility of showing the child just a bit more compassion. Vitus frowned, wondering if he should reveal to Julius the secret of his friendship with Aeliana but, knowing that Julius would disapprove, held his tongue._

_Julius sighed, realized he’d gain no conversation from Vitus that day, and only clapped his hand on Vitus’ small shoulder._

_“Perhaps someday I will be able to know your thoughts, hm?” Julius questioned, smirking and playfully tossing a grape at Vitus, who laughed and retaliated in kind. His father glared, but remained silent._

_..._

The water still wasn’t as warm as Adam would have preferred; he emerged, gasping just as fiercely as he had the first time-all those years ago. He wondered, fleetingly, if he would ever overcome the shock that resurrecting sent through him, if he might ever breach the surface with a calm expression of acceptance. The darkness of night provided him with sufficient coverage, and there was hardly another living soul on the riverbank, anyway, so he swam hastily to gain his footing on sharp rocks and mud, the chill of a breeze washing over his naked body as he reached the bank and hauled himself to a standing position.

Shivering, he tried to recognize any landmarks: any bench with exactly three chips in it, any sidewalk with fading words of green chalk, any tree with initials shakily etched into it. Finally, he recognized a small fountain just half a block or so ahead of him and, realizing it was a thankfully unpopulated area, sprinted as quickly as his legs would move, reaching the fountain and the loose brick at its base that he’d discovered some years ago.

Every few months, Adam would take a leisurely walk through the city, a duffle bag at his shoulder, and covertly place a change of clothes and a towel in certain spots near the river; the practice had become vital to the ease of his resurrections, allowing him to avoid, for the most part, earning odd stares and being arrested as he walked, bare, down the sidewalk.

Pulling the brick from its place, he removed the jeans and t-shirt he’d stashed away just a few weeks ago, taking the towel and drying himself off before tugging the clothes on and returning the brick to its home. He stood, running the towel over his dripping hair, looking around himself as if searching for some sort of visible answer to the dilemma Henry had presented him with.

Adam had never been paralyzed before; it was a strange experience, to be trapped so completely. The memory of it was unpleasant, and he frowned as he finished drying off his hair just enough so that water wouldn’t drip into his eyes, throwing the towel down on the ground-manners be damned. He didn’t have time for that.

He wanted to thank Henry for the past four months, and, instantly, a few bloody ideas came to mind; Adam had to remind himself that he’d promised to leave Abraham untouched, and that Jo’s wellbeing had never been a concern of his. The focus was Henry, not hurting those around him; that was a petty way of obtaining vengeance, he’d learned over the years. The one way to properly get to Henry was to intimidate him, as he’d done before he’d revealed his identity, so that Henry would constantly worry over the fate of his loved ones.

But then, a small part of Adam thought for a moment that this was the perfect time for a second chance, an opportunity to start over. It was, admittedly, a thought immediately dismissed, but the fact that it had surfaced at all annoyed Adam. Where had it come from? He certainly could never be in the same room as Henry, could never consider him a friend, and could never share his story with the doctor. Henry hated him, blamed him for the line of red cut across Abigail’s neck.

Henry would never know him; he’d had the misguided belief that Henry could understand him, become like him, that he might enjoy the thrill of killing someone or that he might realize the length of eternity. What an awful thing it was, to have eternity; Henry didn’t understand that yet. He didn’t know what became of decent men, but he’d learn-without Adam there to help him, it seemed. His role was clear: the dark to Henry’s light.

Even still, that part of him yearned to be heard, but Adam, realizing how he’d reveal his newfound health to Henry, could only ignore its reason, smiling as he started walking in the direction of the hospital, tucking his hands in his pockets.

…

Just outside Adam’s former hospital room, the police and staff were conversing frantically, some gesturing wildly around them as if to indicate how many times they’d searched for Dr. Lewis Farber, to answer the police’s questions. Angie was biting her fingernails with anxiety, her blonde hair completely undone from its bun, her eyes bright with worry and guilt. Inside the room, a crisp breeze came in from the open window and ruffled the wrinkled sheets atop his bed; Angie, in her confused panic, had opened the window in order to see if, somehow, Lewis had climbed onto a ledge, and at the realization that he was nowhere to be seen, she’d shakily walked away, forgetting to close the window in the process.

“He just vanished! We were there-me and Angie. The other nurses say they didn’t see anything, I know, but we did, I’m telling you. The machines were going haywire, so we came in with a crash cart but before we could get to him, he just…blinked out of existence!” Adam’s doctor shouted at the police, angry that they didn’t believe him. Angie, beside him, nodded vigorously, frowning.

“The camera outside his door went down yesterday; Denise forgot to call to have it fixed. No one saw him leave the room before we got there; he couldn’t have just miraculously recovered and walked away! Brian is telling the truth!” she chimed in, but the police only offered them frustrated, incredulous gazes, scribbling in their notebooks.

Outside, Adam was relieved that Angie had forgotten to close the window.

He had to admit, scaling the wall of a hospital with nothing but his bare hands, convenient ridges in the bricks, and sheer determination was a first for him.

As he neared the floor he’d been on, he could hear Angie’s trembling voice as she once more recounted the story that she most likely didn’t believe; his doctor seemed shaken, as well, as his voice reached Adam’s ears. There was distant murmuring, and he heard the static voice from a police radio, cursing the fact that there were so many people near the room.

He climbed into the window and landed soundlessly on the cold floor, the smell of antiseptic instantly invading his sinuses. It was odd to see the room he’d been trapped in for so long from a different angle, from the angle Henry would have seen it. At the thought, bitterness swelled up in him, a familiar sensation, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it; Angie came into the room, wearing a distraught expression, but at the sight of Adam standing just across from her, she stopped cold, her cheeks paling as she opened her mouth to shout to the police. He moved faster than he thought he ever had before, clapping a hand over her mouth. He snaked his arm around her torso and loosely gripped her throat and chin with his hand, keeping her head still as he pulled her close to the bed and out of the doorway’s light, his cheek pressed close to her ear, her back flush against his chest; he could feel her fluttery heart there.

“Don’t make a sound; don’t try to fight me. You do what I say, or I slit your throat,” he whispered huskily. He didn’t have a knife, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He wanted his threat to seem believable and, from the way she stilled at his words, he guessed that it was working.

“Listen to me very carefully, Angie. I want you to go out there and distract them so I can slip out of the room, maybe find a closet to hide in for a minute, and then you’ll suggest that everyone search the hospital again. Go to the nearest closet and I’ll be there; you’ll pretend to find me. You don’t need to say a word after that, alright?” he explained quickly, and she nodded fearfully against him, breathing heavily through her nose.

Adam released his hold on the nurse and gave her a shove toward the door, and she glanced back at him, anger and disbelief in the hard set of her mouth. She dried the tears from her eyes and turned back to make her way through the door, ushering the men away to the nurse’s station with a few lowly-mumbled lies that Adam couldn’t quite hear.

Taking the opportunity, he rushed out of the room, hoping no one would come out of their rooms and see him as he made his way to the first closet he saw. Luckily, and although the closet was nearly completely dark, he found a spare hospital gown and disposed of his clothes, stashing them away on a high storage shelf. He could hear footsteps nearing the door, so he tied the gown, ruffled his hair, and plopped down on the hard floor, sitting with his legs crossed, rocking in a way that made him seem deranged. He’d pretended to be crazy on more than one occasion, and so when Angie and Brian opened the closet door and called to the policemen, Dr. Lewis Farber was gently pulled up from the floor looking half-mad, his eyes wild. He seemed frightened and confused, attempting to fight against Brian’s steely hold on him; Angie tried not to glare at Adam too frequently.

…

After the incident with Adam, Henry had immediately grabbed a dagger that looked the most similar from Abe’s store and rushed to plant it in the evidence lockers at the station before anyone noticed that Lucas had taken it in his stead; he assumed that they’d returned it to the museum.

He’d hidden the real dagger, along with the pistol, beneath a panel of hardwood on the first floor of the shop. If, Heaven forbid, Adam ever returned, he’d made it obvious that he had no difficulties with breaking into a safe. Henry could only hope that he’d have trouble finding the dagger the next time around.

He thought of the panel, wondering if he should check on it-just to be safe- but finally decided it was too late to wander back down there, after having just been dropped off by Jo; despite the displeased look Abe would give him in the morning, Henry wanted to spend at least some nights each week in his own bed rather than curled up on Jo’s couch. Neither of them had summoned the courage to suggest that he sleep in her bed; he wondered if they might ever be brave enough.

The clock’s ticking, heard distantly from the other room, was still loud in the silence of night. The only other noise was the gentle whir of taxis driving past the store, and Henry stood, preparing to turn off the dim lamp light and retire to his room, when the phone rang.

Startled, he hurried to answer the call, worried that it would wake Abe.

“Hello?” he said uneasily, memories of his past calls with Adam coming to the forefront of his mind. Ever since that first phone call, he’d never quite been comfortable with answering the telephone.

“Is this Henry Morgan?” came a polite voice on the other end, and when Henry confirmed his identity, the woman told him a rather strange story with an increasingly shaky voice, as if she had just seen a ghost.

“Dr. Morgan, my name is Martha Johnson from the Human Resources Department of Clark Medical Center. There’s been an incident involving your friend, Dr. Lewis Farber. At eight o’clock this evening, Dr. Farber went missing from his hospital room, and he was finally found in a storage closet, aware of himself but very confused. He seems to have miraculously recovered from Locked-In Syndrome, but he doesn’t seem to have any idea what happened. He said that he was scared and ran away, once he could move, and our machines alerted us but by the time we got there, he was already gone.  The police have already questioned him, and you shouldn’t worry about them calling you; we know you left the hospital before any of this happened. We released him just a few minutes ago; I just wanted to let you know the situation.”

Henry nearly dropped the phone, and a terrible weakness took hold of his limbs, his legs shaking. He thought he might pass out at that very moment. At his silence, the woman continued uncertainly.

“...Dr. Morgan? Are you alright? I know that this…is a shock,” she asked in concern, and Henry leaned on the table for support, swallowing thickly.

“Yes, yes...I’m alright. ...Thank you for telling me.”

She seemed as if she wanted to say more, but she merely wished him a good night and hung up the phone, and Henry’s hand shook when he put the phone back on its stand.

After the initial shock and disbelief, after thinking countless times that Jo and Abe were in danger, and after calling Jo and politely asking her to immediately come to the shop and stay the night, Henry sat on one of the pieces of antique furniture with a shotgun in his arms, staring at the door. When Jo finally got there, he only asked her to get a good night’s rest, merely saying that he’d explain to the both of them tomorrow morning. Knowing it no doubt had something to do with his immortality, she reluctantly agreed, since she’d been half-asleep when he’d called and really needed the rest.

Henry didn’t sleep at all.

…

_ Fourteen _

_Tiberius gently tossed a rock at him, and Vitus turned to level his friend with a look of worry._

_“What is it now?” Tiberius mocked, abandoning his perch near the river to wander over and sit beside Vitus, “Is it that slave girl? You really must stop meeting her, Vitus. She’s distracting you.”_

_“From what? Focusing on what father wants? Allowing him to arrange a marriage for me?” Vitus asked angrily, annoyed that Tiberius had interrupted his thoughts. Tiberius didn’t know what it was to care for someone yet, and at times Vitus had nearly convinced himself that he didn’t, either, and that Aeliana was only a phase of fancy. Yet, in the six years he’d known her, in the years he’d snuck away in the dead of night to speak with her in her quarters, in all the moments they’d basked in the silence of day to stare at one another, in all the times his family had been off visiting Julius and allowed them an entire day to play side by side, Vitus was almost convinced that he was in love._

_His father was already speaking of marriage, and it sent a shiver of apprehension through Vitus, the idea of marrying someone other than Aeliana. It was impossible to marry a slave, and as much as Vitus had foolishly begged his father to free her, he worried that he had endangered her presence at their home. His father was likely going to sell Aeliana and make sure that Vitus never saw her again._

_It was the pain of knowing this, of knowing her grace and her beauty and realizing any day could be their last, that Tiberius couldn’t understand._

_Vitus sighed, almost apologetic for his outburst, and turned to his long-time friend with sad eyes._

_“Tiberius, my single wish is for her to be safe. Father will have her sent away, I’ll be trapped in a loveless marriage, and no one around me can understand why that is an issue; they think it’s normal. Do you deem it normal?”_

_Tiberius might have said that he thought it was perfectly fine, to any other person. He might have ignored the sadness in their face and told them to act like the man their father would want them to be, but Tiberius knew Vitus’ father and he knew Vitus. He knew the boy he’d been raised alongside, knew the boy he’d accidentally pushed down a steep hill when they were five, knew the boy that had struck him in the face for insinuating in a moment of anger that he’d been the cause of his mother’s death, knew the boy that he had spent weeks apologizing to, knew the boy that had wrapped an arm over his shoulder and cheered with him when his sister was born._

_He knew that there was a certain fragility in Vitus, and he cared so deeply for the boy, for someone that he considered family, that he dared not speak against the thought of a life with Aeliana. Besides, she obviously made Vitus’ life just a bit happier._

_Shaking his head, Tiberius placed a hand on Vitus’ shoulder._

_“It is deplorable,” he lied, hoping that one day, the falsity might become truth._


	4. Chapter 4

_ Sixteen _

_His skin was awash with her touch, the brush of her fingertips over his jawbone sending shivers through his body, her curtain of dark hair, laid over a soft shoulder, shielding his eyes from the shine of the sun as she leaned close above him, lips curled into a playful smile. He touched her face, gently, lovingly, and smirked as she brought her other hand up to loosely hold his fingers._

_"I am at home here, with you," murmured Aeliana, who gazed so carefully at Vitus, as if she thought he might vanish from her sight at any given moment. He sighed, a burden coming to weigh his thoughts._

_"Even with my family so near? Even while you are a slave?"_

_Brow furrowed, he seemed remorseful for having said the word and, although it was true, it left a bitter taste in his mouth; he resented her status, that it had been wrongly forced upon her, but her smile only softened._

_"Soon you will be gone, and that is all I'll ever be," she reminded him, her voice gentle and slow and almost mournful, and Vitus felt his thoughts grow even heavier with the looming future he'd been trying his best to avoid. Aeliana knew that she'd struck a chord, knew that she'd ruined the moment, but it had been necessary._

_A noise sounded nearby, a suspicious rustle of the undergrowth near them as they laid together beneath the trees outside his home, shrouded from prying eyes. Startled, they both jumped to their feet, and Aeliana squeezed his hand comfortingly, perhaps even apologetically, before darting away._

_ Seventeen _

_The night air was unforgivingly stifling, the bags slung across his back too heavy for him to run properly. Aeliana stood beneath a tree with her hands linked behind her back, nervously pacing beneath the large shade of the branches, cast in such darkness that he could only catch sight of her familiar features once he was two feet or so away from her. Vitus, sighing with both relief and just a bit of pride, handed one bag to her with trembling hands and she accepted it quickly, eyes darting all about her; he shared her paranoia, and could hardly stand still for even a second in fear that someone might see them, that his family might wake up and notice his absence, that all their effort might be for naught._

_And there was still the nagging concern that all those years, all the hopeful glances, might yet meet a fruitless end in Rome, but he hurriedly took her hand and basked in the feel of it, brought it gingerly to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She smiled shakily and cast her gaze above them, to where she could spot the gleam of stars sprinkled between the branches. Forlornly, she shook her head and swallowed thickly, sighing._

_"I have always believed that when we die, we become stars," began Aeliana, tightening her hold on his hand as if to emphasize the look she turned on him, "and when I die I shall be alongside my family and all the friends I've lost, beyond us there."_

_She gestured to the sky and released his hand, slinging the sac over her shoulder and holding his gaze._

_"And when you die, you shall be with me, if you wish," she finished quietly._

_Vitus could imagine no fate, no end, more fitting, nor one he desired with any greater intensity. His nervous smile softened and his heart beat harshly in his chest._

_"I want nothing more."_

_They waited a moment, the night so silent around them that they could hear each other's heavy breaths, and she nodded; they ran faster than they ever believed possible._

_…_

_"Your father would be ashamed to see you groveling for the sake of a slave, Vitus," Julius admonished coolly, sipping a goblet of wine as Vitus pleaded before him, dropping upon his knees to gaze up at the one person he'd hoped might understand._

_"I_ beg _of you, Julius, if you ever held any regard for me at all,_ please _. Aid us. We will not bother you, you will not see us, this will be the final time," Vitus implored passionately, his dark eyes wide and glistening in the candlelight as Aeliana stood uneasily behind him, staring beseechingly at Julius, uncertain as to whether she should join Vitus on his knees._

_Julius took a long moment and sighed, setting his wine down, and the impatience of his sigh urged her forward; she resisted the temptation to clutch at Vitus' sleeve for support. Julius leveled the boy with a searching gaze; he'd long-considered Vitus all but a son, and yet this favor was a betrayal to his father, a betrayal Julius would have to keep a secret. But then, Vitus held a single light of hope in his stare, a weakly burning flame that might flicker out of existence if Julius denied his request, and he didn't have the heart. Finally, Julius nodded._

_"Documentation, proof…If the both of you hide here in Rome, you might have a chance of evading your father's men; they'll be looking for you, Vitus."_

_Vitus stood with speed Julius hadn't known he'd possessed and moved to wrap grateful arms about his shoulders, shaking with joy._

_Secretly, he relished the gesture; he would never see Vitus' smile again, would never see the son he might never even have there before him in all but blood._

_Vitus pulled away and motioned for Aeliana to rise from the floor, and she did so with a certain grace that surprised Julius still, her wide smile illuminating her features as she reached over to take Vitus' hand._

_"You'll need names, yes? A position?" he asked, wanting to know that they had a plan._

_Vitus, despite his uncertainty regarding what job he'd take up, nodded vigorously, grinning as if he'd been given the greatest gift in all the world._

_…._

_He carried her across the threshold as all husbands were supposed to, and she laughed girlishly in his embrace as he spun her around in their new home to show her, in its simple beauty, the life they'd been given. Gently, Vitus lowered her so that she could stand and circle her arms about his neck, and he grinned down at her, brushing a strand of crimson back from between her eyes._

_Aeliana craned her neck to kiss him, softly and languidly, relishing the moment that was, for once, entirely without risk; he wrapped warm arms over the small of her back to pull her close to him, and she smiled against his mouth, moving to hug him so tightly that he broke the kiss with his laughter._

_…_

_He would remember her hands the most, would commit to memory the small lines and creases and the mound of her palm that was roughened and scratched lightly over his skin when she brushed her fingers over his chest; he would be able to recall easily the way her shoulders looked in the moonlight, skin stretched taut over her collarbone._

_He would know the way her eyes gleamed at him when he kissed her neck, and he'd recognize the hitch of her breath that sounded when he was flush against her, their legs entangled._

_In just a few short years, Vitus was sure of it; he would find Aeliana eternally familiar, and forever lose his breath and his thoughts when she smiled so wickedly and bucked her hips and smothered his moan with her lips._

…

Adam made it back to his apartment just after one in the morning, suddenly grateful for the bland emptiness of his living room, grateful for the honking, coming through the window, of the taxis out on the street that had kept him up many a night, grateful for the soft bed and the grey walls. He was grateful for the mundane nature of it all, grateful to be out of that hospital.

He collapsed, exhausted, upon his bed and laid still, staring blankly at the ceiling and occasionally moving to feel the sheets beneath his fingers with increasing amounts of relief.

He made the mistake of turning his head, catching a glimpse of the sky through his window. He closed his eyes to ward off the image, annoyed, but the imprint of glittering stars lingered in the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, you’re saying your lunatic stalker just _magically_ died in the hospital, when he was paralyzed? It’s not like he could kill himself, right? I thought Locked-In Syndrome was a sure thing,” Jo questioned, voice pinched with the sudden onset of stress that the entire morning had brought.

Abe, beside her, had his arms crossed in quiet thought, shaking his head to himself, trying to process the fact that Adam had returned in the dead of night, wishing Henry had told him sooner so he could have stayed up all night alongside his father.

Henry stared at Jo guiltily, nodding in agreement and standing to pace near the counter of the shop, hands flailing in wild gestures as he attempted to find a way around their current problem.

“I thought we’d have more time; I had hoped he would stay that way for years,” Henry explained, putting a hand to his forehead and sighing, “it was so foolish of me to visit, to talk to him, to tell him practically everything!”

Abe stood and came over to put a hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“You didn’t want him to be completely alone, remember? You visited him for the right reasons. What were you going to talk to him about, the weather? That would have bored him right to flatlining, if you ask me,” he offered softly, and Henry laid a hand over his, smiling gratefully, although half-heartedly.

Henry couldn’t bring himself to be completely thankful that Abe was trying to ease his guilt; he’d likely just brought about the deaths of those he cared for. Adam was a problem he hardly wanted to deal with, and he didn’t know how he would.

“Thank you, Abe,” he lied, shaking his head, “but I need to fix this, and I have no idea how I’ll do it. The gun doesn’t work, meaning the dagger is most likely useless. He can’t be killed-”

“Can’t you just paralyze him again, if you get close to him?” Jo interjected from her seat at the chess table, and Henry gave her a brief, considering look before frowning and outwardly dismissing it with a hopeless, defeated shrug.

“He’ll be expecting it, I’m sure. He’ll be coming back with a vengeance, too-I doubt he liked having to endure that for four months because of me. Adam is determined, and he’s reckless and dangerous and you’ll both need to be on guard from now on. He could very well try to harm you.”

At this, he gave Abe a meaningful, highly concerned gaze, and turned his attention to Jo with an equally fretful stare, but the detective shook her head and stood, stretching in the early morning, still tired despite the night’s rest.

“I’ve got a gun, Henry, and Abe’s got that shotgun he likes to show off,” Abe grinned to himself, “and quite frankly, we can both take care of ourselves, anyway. Besides, Adam never acted like he wanted to hurt us,” she reasoned, carding a hand through her dark, tousled hair, flinching as her fingers caught on tangles yet to be brushed out. It wasn’t like she carried a comb with her.

Henry started towards her, pleading.

“He’s _insane_ , Jo. And now he’s _angry_ -truly angry. He was already volatile enough; who knows what he’ll do now.”

Exasperated and stressed and sleep depraved, Henry looked absolutely wild, his eyes wide and reddened, his hands trembling with the force he exerted when he made emphasizing gestures during his ranting, and Abe finally came to put two steadying arms on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Henry, listen. You two need to get to work, focus on that, and worry about Adam when you get back.”

Henry attempted to interrupt, but his son shushed him.

“We’ll figure this out, together. If Adam comes in the shop, I’ll shoot him in the chest, and if he comes again, I’ll shoot him again. The convenient thing about disappearing when you die is that I could literally play that game all day, so I’ll be fine.”

Behind him, Jo laughed, coming around to pat Henry on the back, hand pointedly resting on the gun at her waist.

“He’s right, Henry,” she murmured softly, if only a bit impatiently, and with a moment of reassuring words from Abe and a long, needed hug, Henry left the shop and got in the car with Jo.

…

They exited the elevator in tense silence, both distracted with the thought of an immortal out for blood, and Hanson, standing near his desk and chatting with another detective, caught sight of them and excused himself, grabbing two donuts from a box on his desktop and walking over to them, staring curiously at Henry.

“You look like crap, doc,” he observed blatantly, offering Henry and Jo both a donut, “that would explain why you’re late.”

“Thank you, detective,” Henry said drily, but gave a friendly, forceful smile to negate his tone, and Hanson smiled.

They hadn’t eaten all morning, and despite Henry’s aversion to junk food, he greedily accepted the donut, and Jo smirked at him from behind hers as she all but inhaled it, her stomach growling. Hanson continued to give them odd stares, looking from one to the other, noting their rumpled clothing and mussed hair.

Raising a brow, Hanson looked at Jo.

“Did you sleep at his place or something?” he asked teasingly, and Jo rolled her eyes, not wanting to tell her partner that she had, in fact, stayed the night. Hanson wasn’t aware of the extent of the budding affection between them, and she wanted it to stay that way, for now; the last thing they needed was Hanson’s suggestive innuendos at the wrong moments.

Beginning to walk alongside each other on their way to Henry’s office, Hanson started filling them in on the day’s events.

“Lucas said he’s found something that we missed, in the case files. He says you left the folder open on one of the tables yesterday, before you packed up, and he saw one of the pictures as he was passing by; I don’t believe him, but if he’s found something, then I’ll let it slide. It’s something about that ledger on the floor-he wants to talk to you about it.”

Henry, puzzled, thought for a moment about what Lucas could have seen, but was distracted when Hanson gestured to Reece’s office, where she had closed the blinds and door, wanting privacy.

“Some guy came in here right when we got to work, wanting to speak to her. He was a funny-looking guy, all peppy; it was sort of annoying, if you ask me. He’s been here for at least an hour and a half.”

Hanson shook his head, but his statement caught Henry’s attention. He stopped, turning to stare at the office they’d just passed, and they both looked at him in confusion. Reece’s door opened and her polite laughter drifted into the main room, and she stepped out, stopping when she saw Henry and Jo.

A chillingly familiar voice followed her: “Well, I didn’t want any trouble, of course. These kinds of situations can get a little messy.”

Out walked Lewis Farber, with glasses hanging from his neck, wearing a thin plaid shirt tucked neatly into his khaki pants, and he stopped just beside Reece at the sight of the three of them.  

“Henry!” he said cheerily, his smile widening, “We were just talking about you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Henry and Jo both stilled at the same time, breaths caught, eyes wide with surprise and instant dread. It took him a moment to process it, the fact that Adam was at work, speaking with his boss, invading his life even more, and the small question of what Adam could have said to Reece. Adam’s smile gave nothing away, no hint of hidden hatred or fury, but his eyes were bright and his hair was parted neatly, no bags under his eyes (unlike Henry), no slumped walk; he looked as if he’d had a good night’s rest and hadn’t just been hospitalized a day ago.

Miraculously, Henry came to his senses, knowing that if he confronted Adam, that if he implied in the slightest way that Farber wasn’t all he seemed, there would definitely be repercussions, so he forced a polite smile that felt painful as it came across his face, Jo remaining silent at his side.

“Dr. Farber, what a surprise,” he murmured genially, afraid that if he said anything more his voice might shake with emotion. Here was Abigail’s killer, a maniac, speaking with his friends and practically gloating; such an event could only mean that Adam wanted Henry to know that he was threatening him, in his own way. Adam was toying with him, as he had been doing for months prior to his paralysis.

Adam nodded in agreement, gesturing to Reece with an upbeat flourish of his hand.

“I was just speaking with Lieutenant Reece, here, about your absences during our sessions,” he shrugged casually, chuckling to himself, “and of course for the past few months I couldn’t be there myself, but I wanted to voice my concerns,” he explained, his accent seeming so genuine that Henry still couldn’t believe it wasn’t his real voice. Beside him, Reece nodded and gave Henry a pointed stare, brow arched.

“Dr. Farber told me that before the accident, you only attended once. Henry, that was mandatory, you know that,” she reprimanded gently, lowering her voice so that everyone around them might not hear, and he opened his mouth to give a hurried excuse but she continued before he could, “I won’t ask you why you stopped going, but I’m asking you now-no, I’m _telling_ you that you’re going to start attending those sessions until Dr. Farber sees fit.”

The words died in his throat, and a sinking sense of doom came over him as his gaze darted again to Adam, who wore an expression of guilty concern on his face, as if he were pretending to be burdened by the fact that he’d had to come and out Henry for his absences.

“Understood?” Reece finished curtly, and Henry nodded silently, unsure of what to say. Apparently satisfied with the response, Reece gave all three of them a kind smile, looking at Henry sympathetically. She turned to Adam.

“Thank you for coming to me, Dr. Farber,” he inclined his head, and she gestured to the door, “I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way out?”

Almost imperceptibly, there was the twitch at the corner of his mouth, a break in his act; Henry couldn’t understand why that statement would be funny, but Adam obviously could.

Adam took a breath and nodded, turning his attention to Henry.

“Actually, Lieutenant, I’d like to have a word with Henry, if that’s alright?”

Reece’s gaze turned curious, but she didn’t inquire, and she smiled politely at him.

“Of course.”

She then retreated to her office, and Adam took a small step forward that all but Hanson immediately found threatening.

“Henry, would you mind following me to the break room? I’d like to have a little chat,” he asked, all traces of anger absent from his voice, and he cast an assessing gaze upon Jo, grinning happily, “Ah, you must be Detective Martinez.”

Jo only nodded, barely, but discovered that she was speechless. It wasn’t everyday a murderer just walked into the lieutenant’s office, acting like a saint.

“I’d like to speak with you, as well, if that’s alright?” he added, and Henry felt that if he refused, it would cause a scene, since Adam certainly wouldn’t accept any objections. Giving Hanson a polite, parting wave, Adam ushered them through the main lobby and into the break room, where he quietly shut the door and subtly closed the blinds.

Henry suddenly felt very trapped.

Adam’s shoulders were no longer held high, and as he turned from the window, his eyes were no longer kind, his expression no longer one of cheer. In fact, his expression was one of pure hostility, and Henry thought fleetingly that he hadn’t seen such a look since he’d stabbed Adam with the syringe.

Slowly, Adam walked toward them, and Jo was seconds away from taking out her gun and shooting him in the face, but his eyes fell on her stiff posture, hand resting on her holster, and he smirked as his demeanor changed to one of casual indifference, as if he didn’t want to remain so openly angry for very long.

“You made it very difficult, Henry, to get my job back. You actually just made things difficult, in general,” he said in his normal, roughened voice, pointing to Henry as he had done with the straight razor, frowning.

“Get out, Adam,” Henry hissed, hoping no one outside could hear their conversation, “Leave Jo and Abe alone, and don’t come near anyone else. Get out of my life; I’m tired of playing this deluded game!”

He’d started to raise his voice, and against his better judgment he’d stepped closer to Adam, attempting to threaten him similarly, but Adam only watched him and, finally, he shrugged and reached calmly into his pants pocket and pulled out a syringe. Henry balked, taking a step back and throwing out an arm in front of Jo, prepared to bolt out the door. Adam saw his movements and laughed, and Henry thought that it was such an odd thing to see Adam laugh when he wasn’t pretending to be the innocent British psychiatrist, but the laugh was dark, and Henry swallowed nervously, heart racing.

“Your wariness is understandable, as is my anger-you know. I’ve spent four months unable to feel my body, unable to breathe on my own, unable to move, and all the retribution you’re given is a harmless visit. You should be grateful, Henry, that I didn’t attempt to kill all your friends, though the idea did cross my mind a time or two,” Adam said seriously, holding the syringe between his palms, fingers splayed, “I’ve had some time to think, and I’ve come to tell you that I’m not going anywhere.”

Henry visibly reacted to the statement, shoulders lowering in near-defeat, and his revulsion only grew.

“I have a job here, and quite frankly, this interaction between us has become entertaining.”

“This _interaction_ isn’t voluntary, and it stops now,” Henry insisted quickly, and Adam raised a brow questioningly.

“Does it? If my memory is correct, then the lieutenant just ordered you to attend your therapy sessions. Going against her mandate seems a little…detrimental..to your job here, don’t you think?”

“He’ll figure out something, we all will. In the meantime, you need to leave us alone or I’ll shoot you next time I see you,” Jo interrupted fiercely, unclipping her gun, and Adam leveled her with an impressed gaze before turning his attention back to Henry, loosely pointing the syringe at the doctor.

“I don’t intend on harming anyone you care for, Henry-currently. But I can assure you, if that appointment rolls around and you’re not in my office, I’ll call Reece that same day, and you’ll have some explaining to do.”

Smoothly, he leaned over and set the syringe on the countertop, beside the coffee pot, and gestured to it.

“I was carrying it around because I thought you might try something; naturally, I wanted to be prepared to retaliate,” he explained plainly, as if he hadn’t just threatened to get Henry fired, and he stared at Henry for a quiet moment, his mouth twisting in that familiar way that Henry had only ever associated with moments of distant humanity and plainly-spoken threats. He wasn’t exactly fond of either option, so he steeled himself and took a deep breath, watching Adam closely.

“This is my peace offering to you. Should you accept it, I can promise that I won’t harm you or anyone you know, as long as you don’t attempt to harm _me,_ and I won’t be as,” he smirked, remembering their conversation in the cemetery, “ _overzealous_.”

Henry was beginning to wonder if Adam knew what the word meant, since manipulatively interfering in someone’s life wasn’t exactly considered a unique type of zeal.

“If you don’t accept it, then I’ll take that to mean you intend on paralyzing me again or outing my identity, and let’s just say that won’t go over so well with me, Henry,” he finished, his tone one of amusement at his own choice of words. Henry couldn’t help but imagine that he was remembering some time in his long life where an enemy had crossed him and he’d reacted violently. Violence seemed to be Adam’s only talent.

Standing there before the man that had caused Abigail’s death, Henry could hardly go over there and accept that syringe, accept any sort of peace between them. He could never have peace with Adam, could never do anything that would even give the slightest impression that he’d somehow magically forgiven the fellow immortal for such evil. But there Adam was, all but assuring him that he’d make Henry’s life a living hell if he put the tiniest doubt in Adam’s mind, if he gave Adam reason to think he was going to paralyze him again. Adam would never go back to that, this he knew; he’d always be on the look-out, always be prepared for the worst. Henry would never have the upper hand, and he truly had no choice.

Resentfully, he picked up the syringe and tossed it into the trash can, and Adam absently brought his hand up to touch the glasses hanging against his chest, the ghost of a self-satisfied smile playing over his features.

“There,” Henry muttered angrily, glaring, and Adam nodded at him, a silent moment of agreement between them hanging tense and unwelcome in the air, and he gestured to Jo as he turned on his heel.

“Have a good morning, detective.”

He opened the blinds and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him. Henry could see his form retreating in the direction of the exit, and then he was gone.

…

_ Twenty _

_“We are going to live such amazing lives, and we’ll be old and grey and withered by the time we finally die,” she murmured to him as she sat stitching up a tunic, and from his seat across her he smirked._

_“Romantic,” he quipped, watching how the sunlight that poured through the window looked as if it were woven into her hair, which was coiled tightly and pinned up with an intricacy he could never quite master himself, when she’d ask him to fix it._

_Grinning, she looked up from her work and rolled her eyes._

_“You’ll wrinkle faster than I will,” she retorted teasingly, and had to subsequently rush from her chair as he chased her around the kitchen, laughing._

_…_

_ Twenty-four _

_There were dark circles under Aeliana’s eyes but her smile was just as bright as she watched him, gaze trailing after each soothing movement of his hands as he massaged her aching feet._

_“I could always stay home; I know you need the aid,” he murmured for the fifth time that night, kneading the balls of her feet with his thumbs. Closing her eyes, she sighed tiredly and shifted in the bed, wishing he was close enough for her to reach out and take his hand._

_“I may be large, but I am far from helpless,” she reminded lightly, and opened her eyes to squinting slits as he looked up at her, grinning._

_“I know, but I feel guilty for going to work and leaving you here. What happens if you faint? Remember the time-”_

_“If I faint I shall wake and stand up,” she interrupted softly, and he swatted her feet playfully, scoffing._

_“Of course, I had a lapse in memory; I’m speaking with the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,” he teased, and she laughed as she laid a hand on her round belly, feeling the baby kick. Eyes widening, she gestured wildly to him and, having been through the routine quite a few times, Vitus immediately abandoned his massaging and came to her side to rest a hand near hers._

_As he always did, he laughed with excitement and stared in amazement at her, his gaze filled with such devotion that she gave in to the urge to lean up and kiss him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I wasn't exactly clear on when the flashbacks take place. The underlined numbers before each flashback are ages, how old Adam is-not dates.
> 
> I hope that clears it up! :3


	7. Chapter 7

“I really will shoot him,” Jo muttered in frustration as they hurriedly walked to Henry’s office, and Henry couldn’t even bring himself to smile at her angry words. There was too much on his mind: Abe was in danger, if Adam had the nerve to show up at his workplace. He had immediately dismissed Adam’s suggestion of some sort of truce, and they were rushing to a private place where they could call Abe and check on him; Henry could never honestly believe that Adam wouldn’t hurt anyone he cared for.

Just as they had entered the morgue, Lucas spotted them and picked up a picture from one of the tables, making a beeline for them, but an interruption was the last thing he wanted.

“I found someth-”

“Not right now, Lucas,” barked Henry, his voice clipped and tense and shaky as he thought of what could be about to happen to Abe.

Lucas, looking a lot like a confused, kicked puppy, lowered the hand holding the picture and closed his mouth slowly, watching the pair disappear into the office.

Henry quickly made his way to the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed Abe’s number, anxiously tapping the desk as Jo waited, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed, heart beating rapidly with worry. The phone rang three times, and each time Henry only felt his concern grow until it was nearly overwhelming.

Finally, someone answered.

_..._

_ Twenty-five _

_He was glad that the men his father had sent after them, in that first year, had been unable to hunt them down. He was glad that his family lived far from him, that his brothers lived with their wives and had no choice but to keep their cruelty to themselves, that his father was left to himself-as he deserved._

_Vitus was glad that his family could never know Aeliana, that they could never invade their life together, that they could never hold his baby in their arms._

_They were thankful, pleasant thoughts that passed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile as he looked down on his son, who slept soundly, held close to Vitus’ chest._

_Aeliana slumbered in the next room, and he had been loath to wake her the entire day, even though the sky outside was darkening. She’d grown so tired, having to care after their child while he was gone, and each time he came home to see her with exhausted eyes; it was a regret that greeted him every day._

_But tomorrow was the day he would have to face a different type of remorse._

_…._

_They’d arranged it weeks ago, an elaborate plan that Vitus was sure had turned a few of his hairs grey with stress and paranoia: Tiberius and his pregnant wife were coming to Rome to visit them._

_Aeliana looked well-rested and completely calm, as if people resurfacing from a past she’d rather forget was hardly anything to worry about, but, of course, she was always so collected._

_Vitus, on the other hand, was so overwrought with guilt, from leaving Tiberius so abruptly and without any explanation; worry, a reminder that anyone could follow Tiberius to his home and discover them; and anxiety, a result of his childhood friend coming to visit._

_Tiberius hadn’t seen him since he’d run away, since they had just become adults. Tiberius might be different, might disapprove of Vitus’ choices. He might betray them to his father, might ruin the lives they’d worked so hard to craft._

_Vitus had to frequently stop himself from thinking such horrible, traitorous notions, attempting to confide reassuringly in memories of Tiberius when they were younger. The smiling, teasing boy would never betray him; the man he knew better than he knew himself would not shame him for his decisions._

_The moment came, and Aeliana scooped up their infant son in her arms from where he was sleeping upon their bed, and she stood with Vitus as he neared the door, one hand laid supportively on his forearm; she grounded him, and he took a deep breath as the door swung open to reveal a familiar face._

_Tiberius had aged strongly, his green eyes bright in the sunlight, his dark hair fuller. He was taller than Vitus remembered, and perhaps a bit more broad-shouldered, and Vitus pitied the fact that he couldn’t exactly remember._

_Tiberius’ expression of nervousness broke into one of relief and happiness, and he laughed as he stepped forward to pull Vitus into a crushing, friendly hug, swaying back and forth with Vitus in his embrace as Vitus wrapped his arms around the man’s torso, a sense of comfort washing over him as he sighed, his anxiety abandoning him._

_…_

_Tiberius held the boy as if he had never held a child before, and Vitus doubted he had and smiled patiently at him and guided his hands. Tiberius’ wife smile adoringly at him from her seat beside him, and Aeliana thought her so beautiful: she had such eloquent waves in her blonde hair, and such twinkling brown eyes._

_Vitus returned to his seat after Tiberius got accustomed to the feel of a wiggling baby in his arms, and gripped Aeliana’s hand happily, gazing at her with a question in his eyes, and she nodded in quiet, happy agreement. She was always amused by the excitement he often tried so hard to keep contained; she squeezed his hand as he took a deep breath._

_He gestured to his son, grinning._

_“His name is Tiberius,” Vitus breathed, and it felt a lot like time had stopped all around them._

_Tiberius’ teary eyes, and his trembling smile, and his warm, familiar hug made time start again, for Vitus._

_…_

“Hello?”

Henry sighed with relief, leaning against the desk for support as his knees weakened.

“Oh, thank god, Abraham,” he expressed, and, on the other end, Abe’s voice sounded confused.

“What happened?” he asked, the beginning of concern creeping into his tone.

“Adam came to work today, pretending to be Dr. Farber. I’m coming home; I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Just close the shop and wait for me,” he said quickly, but Abe protested.

“Wait, what? Adam was there? Oh, boy..come on, Henry. What did I tell you this morning? I’ve got my gun. What did he say? Did he threaten you?” Abe asked in a flurry of words and background noise as he politely told customers he was closing the shop due to an emergency.

When Henry relayed the story to him, he sat down and thought for a moment. He’d thought Adam had made it clear that he would never hurt him, and so Abe, realizing that in his threat Adam had never promised to harm anyone and had actually implied that he wouldn’t hurt those Henry knew, had to believe that Adam  wouldn’t come to the shop with the intention of murdering him.

That was something Henry didn’t like to hear.

“What? Abraham…Adam is  _dangerous_. What does it matter if he implied he wouldn’t hurt either of you? He’ll do anything to make me pay for paralyzing him. I-What? No…”

Jo listened to the conversation as it progressed, watching Henry make frustrated hand gestures to emphasize his aversion to what Abe had said, even though Abe wasn’t actually in the room. She almost laughed at the sight, but the thought of Adam quelled her amusement.

Adam, right under their noses, feet from Reece and Hanson and Lucas and all of her coworkers that were ignorant to his threatening presence. Near enough to kill them, to torture them, to toy with them. Near enough. Too near.

The thought left a bad taste in her mouth and a sullen frown on her face.

Finally, with a few parting, heart-felt words, Henry hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh and shook his head.

“What’d he say?” Jo asked, and Henry opened the door and gestured for her to follow him.

“He wants me to stay at work, act normal,” he spoke incredulously, and she caught up to his side as they walked out, “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. You’d think that  _he_  was  _my_  father, by the sound of his voice.”

Jo found it in herself to smirk at that, just before Lucas spotted them and hesitantly crossed the room with the picture in tow. Henry beckoned him over, regretting how he’d snapped at the assistant earlier.

“So I found something,” Lucas began, all forgiven, setting down the picture on the table before them, depicting the ledger on the messy floor of the crime scene, pointing to the middle of the book, “I was looking at it a little closer and I saw this tiny golden mark, and the more I looked, the more I started to see this faded shape.”

Henry stared at it for a long moment and could just barely see a ring, some kind of emblem, on the ledger, but he’d seen it many times before and felt no different about this particular occasion, until Lucas pulled from his pocket a piece of paper with a golden picture on it, and his eyes widened as he recognized it, looking back to the ledger.

The faded symbol, the more they stared, began to come more into view, and, finally, Henry saw the faint, sharp edges of the familiar swastika, surrounded by a worn wreath of leaves. He looked to Jo, and knew that they were both feeling the same pang of uneasiness.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Reece had told Henry when he and Jo had gone to her (about the unfortunate new turn the case had taken) was that his appointment with Dr. Farber was the upcoming Friday, three days away. Henry hadn’t expected it, and his mind had been abruptly overwhelmed with nightmarish predictions of how that session would play out, before Jo had nudged him with her elbow and told Reece the new evidence Lucas had found. Reece’s reaction had been none too pleasant, and she’d exasperatedly left her office to get a cup of coffee, muttering something about how she was tired of Nazis.

Thinking about the moment, Henry frowned at his seat behind his desk, flipping through the pages of the ledger they’d dismissed with a new perspective as, outside, Jo talked to Lucas about the body on the lab table. Henry couldn’t understand it, why there had been a Nazi record kept by an antique shop owner that should have turned it over to a museum, if he’d had any moral decency.

It had been two days since the discovery, and Henry had been unable to discern any specific reason as to why the old man might have had the book in his possession; Jo and Hanson hadn’t been able to link the man to any Nazi connections, either. Henry wondered, fleetingly, if Adam might know anything about the new resurgence of his old enemies, but the idea of calling Adam and asking him nearly disgusted Henry, so he decided against the idea and rested his head against the palm of his hand, sighing heavily.

It was going to be a long day.

_ Twenty-six _

_They were silent._

_Aeliana, more stoic than Vitus thought he’d ever seen her, sat at the table, bouncing young Tiberius on her knee, staring off into the distance. Vitus wanted to chase after Tiberius so dearly; he wanted to go and comfort Tiberius and his wife, Cassia,  more than anything in that moment. He’d only just left; he hadn’t even the will to pass the threshold before telling Vitus and Aeliana the news._

_It had been a girl, Tiberius had cried out. A small, sickly infant girl-born blue and still. He’d left just as quick, unable to bear the fall of Vitus’ smile or the weight of Aeliana’s pitying stare._

_And there they were, wondering what they could have done differently. Aeliana thought that surely she could go and visit them, console them, that she could wrap Cassia in her arms and help her heal, mother to mother-but going back home wasn’t an option._

_Instead, Aeliana reached across the table and squeezed Vitus’ hand._

_“They’re fighters, like us. They’ll survive this,” she reassured, and all Vitus could do was gratefully kiss her knuckles and pray that his brother would be alright._

_ Thirty _

_“I’m certain of one thing: she’s going to look like you,” Vitus murmured to Aeliana as he held their newborn daughter, Tauria, in his arms, seated at the edge of the bed. Aeliana, face flushed, rested in their bed, the dark red strands of her hair curling up near her temples from the moisture. She chuckled softly, lids heavy from exhaustion, and slowly nodded._

_“That would be a nice thing, wouldn’t it? Tiberius looks like your twin; I at least deserve a child that takes after me,” she spoke lightly, smirking at Vitus as he cradled the baby. He shook his head, trying not to laugh too hard in order to avoid waking Tauria, who slept so soundly, her tiny blue eyes serenely closed._

_“Perhaps she will age….a bit more gracefully than I have,” Vitus joked quietly, absently running his thumb over Tauria’s soft arm, referring to the early wrinkles already coming over his face._

_Aeliana reached out a bit weakly, still recovering from the birth, and laid her hand over his knee._

_“You look just as youthful as you did when I first met you,” she whispered, heartfelt. Vitus threw his head back and laughed softly, rolling his eyes._

_“I was a child when you first met me,” he reminded her, and she grinned._

_“Perhaps I exaggerated a bit there.”_

_..._

The nice thing about being a psychiatrist was the downtime, in Adam’s opinion. Between sessions, he could finish his paperwork early and maybe even eat that lunch he’d packed that morning, free from distractions. No one wanted to just barge into his office; it was unseemly and rude. Except Henry, of course. Henry hadn’t minded interrupting, before.

Today, though, Adam had only sat down with two clients, one a high-strung police officer and the other a middle-aged woman stressed about her ongoing divorce, and so had been allotted the rest of his work day to sit in peace, log in information into the computer, and eat a chicken salad sandwich he’d been looking forward to all morning.

After his work was done, he leaned back in his desk chair, took off those pesky glasses, and stared at the wall, chewing. He wondered if Henry would come to the session on Friday. Adam wasn’t very eager to get Henry fired, since that would likely push Henry away from him even more. He’d have to go through with his word, though, if Henry did in fact turn out to be absent, but he hoped, secretly, that Henry would be there, ready to have a proper talk.

There was so much he wanted to tell Henry, so much that he hadn’t had the chance to say. Henry, though, hated him; hatred was definitely an issue in good communication.

After Abigail, Adam doubted that Henry would ever forgive him or be remotely civil with him, and that was something Adam still hadn’t honestly accepted. For so long, he’d been alone. Adam knew that he was by no means a “normal” person, knew that he’d definitely gotten a little too excited about the discovery of a second immortal, knew that he’d tried playing mind games because that was how he’d lived the last seven centuries. If your opponent was frightened, intimidated, or otherwise wary of you, then you had the upper hand; you had control.

Henry had been his opponent if only because of the mystery, if only because of Adam’s uncertainty. And after Adam realized that Henry was just about as different from Adam as he could possibly be, Adam got desperate. Maybe if Henry had felt what it was like to kill someone, maybe if he had felt what Adam felt, then he might have understood Adam a bit more. Then he might not have been alone anymore-but the plan had failed. Hoping to make amends and salvage any chance he had of coming to know Henry in a way that he hadn’t known anyone in a long while, Adam tried for peace, but Henry made it so impossible once he found out the truth behind Abigail’s death.

And of course, Adam’s temper got in the way, at the end. He’d reacted poorly to Henry’s dismissal; he’d lost control and the possibility of ever having a true friend. It was a revelation he hadn’t handled well, and he’d used the pistol (that he’d taken for back-up) against Henry. Upon reflection, that alone was a horrible decision; Henry could have been killed permanently, and Adam’s chances would have become obsolete. It was definitely one of his darker moments, and he’d had plenty of time to think it over during his paralysis. Just the thought of those four months ignited a specific kind of rage within Adam, but he had to remind himself that rage was what put him in this position in the first place.

So, he’d keep his temper in check, if Henry showed up. No matter what, he wouldn’t crack. He’d act as friendly as he was able, and he’d win Henry over-even if it took a hundred years.

There were syringes in his desk drawer, though.

 _Just in case_ , Adam told himself.

 ...

_ Thirty-four _

_Aeliana was convinced Tiberius was about to grow taller. The boy was short, even for a ten year old, but she held fast to the prediction that he’d be as tall as Vitus when he reached the age of fourteen. Despite his small size, he was almost as fast a runner as Vitus; Aeliana mocked Vitus for losing their races, out in the fields, and he rolled his eyes and tackled her into the river._

_Tauria laughed, sitting in the high grass and watching curiously. Tiberius grinned at his parents as they clambered out onto the bank, arms around one another, laughing; he scooped Tauria up in his arms and she wrapped her tiny, chubby fingers over his shoulders, smiling sweetly as Tiberius carried her to where Vitus stood, wringing out his clothes. Aeliana beamed at her children and eagerly took Tauria, kissing her cheek and blowing against her skin, causing Tauria to let out one of her signature high-pitched giggles._

_Vitus chuckled and carefully laid a hand on Tiberius’ shoulder, not wanting to get his clothes wet. He knew Aeliana was right; Tiberius would definitely grow to be as tall as he was._

_…_

“Victim had Nazi connections,” Jo announced as she came through the door to Henry’s office, her heels clicking against the floor as she approached his desk. Henry, looking up from the papers he held, leveled her with a questioning stare.

“We were questioning the sisters again, putting a little pressure on them. They finally told us that their father used to work for the Nazis, smuggling whatever they needed him to and storing it in the antique shop. They said their brother got rid of it all once their dad died, about thirty years ago.”

Henry set the papers down and shook his head.

“Maybe he decided Nazis weren’t so bad after all? Maybe he kept up communication with them and just didn’t tell his family?” asked Henry seriously, and Jo shrugged.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. Why else would he have kept the book? There’s surely more memorabilia, somewhere.”

“Well it’s not at the shop; we’ve explored every inch of that place,” Henry countered, standing  from his chair, “Think we could go explore elsewhere? His house, perhaps? There may be something we missed.”

Jo smirked, crossing her arms.

“You mean, without Reece’s permission?”

Henry winked at her, shrugging off his lab coat and folding it over the back of his chair.

“I told you: legality has always been a choice for me.”

 ...

_ Thirty-seven _

_There was always the chance that he wasn’t overreacting, he told himself. There was always the chance that Julius was in genuine danger, that the rumors were true. He laid awake all night, unable to find peaceful slumber with so much worry addling his mind._

_If what he’d heard today was true, then there was an assassination in store, and it was a large enough plan to reach the mouths of sketchy traders and merchants far from the Senate. Aeliana couldn’t sleep either, but she laid as still as death beside her husband, not wanting him to be aware of her own worry. She feared that Vitus would do something drastic tomorrow-and her fears were rarely baseless._

_The next morning found Vitus and Aeliana arguing; Vitus was determined to try and warn Caesar, and Aeliana was determined to convince him not to._

_“What if this plot is serious, Vitus? What if they truly mean to kill him?” she questioned, whispering in order to avoid waking their children so early in the day._

_“Then I shall go and save him!” Vitus all but shouted, brow furrowed, “I owe him my life, Aeliana-as do you. If I do not at least try to warn Julius, then what kind of man does that make me?”_

_Aeliana faltered, standing before him with bated breath._

_“It makes you a man that will be there to see his children grow up,” she finally replied, and Vitus’ eyes widened in surprise, his anger partially subsiding._

_She caught a glimpse of his hurt expression as it crossed his face, but he rushed to hide it with a look of resolve. He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment and sighing to himself._

_“No, it makes me a coward.”_

_Aeliana reached for him, but he was already walking away._


	9. Chapter 9

"The only suspicious thing in here is that mold," Jo muttered with a frown as she surveyed the basement, shining her flashlight into a dark corner and pretending not to notice the quick flash of something scurrying away, "..and that."

Henry, seriously inspecting a cracked, leather book he'd found in a box he'd had to all but scrape off the cold concrete floor, absently shook his head as he turned the stiff, discolored pages, not really wanting to know what she'd just seen. He'd laid the box on an old workshop table, closer to his reach, not wanting to have to continuously bend down close to the mold. The unfamiliar residue stuck to the pages made him glad for his gloves.

"This certainly looks old enough, but it's so faded that I can't find any signs that it belonged to the Nazis. There are..notes, some kind of code-it looks like. Abbreviations, comments…horrible penmanship, if I do say so myself."

Jo smirked as she rifled through a box of old photos and CDs that had nearly caved in on itself.

"You mean you can't just smell it and tell? That's not one of your talents?" asked Jo mockingly. Henry rolled his eyes but couldn't keep his smile at bay, setting the book down on the table.

"Oh, I have many talents..." he countered, and she turned to stare up at him with a teasing grin, one he'd always enjoyed seeing. She raised a brow, imploring, and he shrugged.

"..Though that particular skill isn't one of them," he sighed, almost wishing it was. It would definitely have made his life easier, he thought briefly: being able to know everything about something by scent alone. Adam came to mind, for a confusing split-second, and Henry's face fell in a fearful micro-expression that Jo hadn't learned to recognize yet. Unaware, her smile widened as she tilted her head.

"Maybe you can show me later tonight," she commented, and Henry, on his way to aid her in her search through the box, was caught in a silly, flustered kind of surprise that he hadn't felt in years. Distracted by Jo's suggestion, he didn't notice the box at the edge of his vision, in a corner of the basement they hadn't explored yet, hidden behind a crumbling wall panel that they couldn't possibly have spotted the first time; a second work bench had been bolted to the floor directly in front of it.

He was reminded of earlier that day, when he'd asked Jo if she'd like to come by the apartment for dinner (since Abe was planning to have dinner with the new owner of a collectibles shop a few blocks away-an attempt, no doubt, to avoid his past competitive streak).

Call it fate or pure coincidence, but the dim ray of light shining through the grimy, high window came down to perfectly illuminate the box's side and what was written there, just below the bottom edge of the table, and only when Jo, pinned by Henry's stare as he leaned down to help her search, swallowed nervously and looked away did Henry avert his gaze and catch sight of the box in the other corner.

 _Griffin_ , it read, but it had been hastily and carelessly marked out. Henry knew that name; he didn't want to see that name. It reminded him far too much of the events a few months back, with Adam and the dagger and Jo's lost faith. As he looked closer, it seemed that the box had been nearly torn apart.

"Was someone in a hurry?" he asked as he stood and made his way over to investigate. Jo gave him a confused look but followed, shining her flashlight on the box and its contents.

Henry crawled through the small space and carefully pulled the box toward him and through the hole of concrete and brick that it had been concealed in, rushing to search through it all. He found antique artifacts that were worn with age and poor care; he thought that Griffin would hate the sight of them. He searched past blades, pottery shards, and cloth until he came across a modern book that clearly didn't belong. It was at the bottom of the pile, tucked beneath one of the four end flaps of the box, and Henry couldn't help but think that its placement was on purpose.

 _To conceal something_ \- a thought flashed.

Henry opened the book and was instantly disappointed; it was a nameless copy of some ordinary fiction novel, it seemed. He sighed, his shoulders lowering. Jo's flashlight beam came across it and she pointed to a spot on the page he had flipped to, a small lump that he'd initially attributed to water damage.

"There," she murmured softly, just as curious as he was and quite afraid of what they had come across. Immortality, murder, and Nazis made you scared of almost anything, really.

Henry inspected the page further, running a gloved nail over the lump but feeling nothing. He turned the page and did the same to the second one, but to no avail. So, he repeated the process, and the lump kept getting bigger and bigger with each page he turned until, finally, he turned to a page with obvious discoloration across that same spot. Scratching it, he accidentally peeled back a bit of the page to find that it was made of some brittle, aged material rather than paper, with something sewn into its middle.

He ripped the false page out with care and they got to work, carefully pulling the seams apart at each end until it was entirely laid open; they set it down on the floor, and Jo picked up the pieces of folded paper that had lain in the middle.

She gave Henry a trademark 'Jo' look, shaking her head.

"Are we in a National Treasure movie?" she asked incredulously, and he frowned, too concerned with what the papers were to focus on what her reference might have meant; he wasn't caught up on modern movies yet.

Jo slowly pulled the papers apart and unfolded them, spreading them out on the floor for them both to see. Henry took one glance and immediately felt both anger and anxiety; these were familiar sensations he was used to feeling each time Adam was mentioned.

There were two pages, both worn and damaged, but their markings were clear. They were two of the same pages out of the book that Griffin had shown Henry before he'd given him Adam's dagger. They were Nazi records of Adam's time during the Holocaust, records of his immortality, records of the experiments they'd performed on him. But there was something remarkably different about these pages, something that made them far more valuable (and dangerous) than the diagrams and descriptions scrawled in Griffin's book; these pages were the first out of the book, and Henry could only assume they'd been ripped out long ago.

Jo looked at Henry, trying to read the expression on his face, shaking her head.

"I don't understand…What makes these guys so important? Do you recognize the names? Think they could be Nazis?"

There was a swastika marking on each paper, along with several names. Each name had a date and address beside it and numbers that held no meaning for Henry.

He held the papers carefully, knowing that despite his own feelings, he had to protect them, at least until he could figure out what had already been done with the information.

"These are all the same person, I believe," he spoke quietly, but Jo's confusion hardly lifted, "I think these are some of Adam's past aliases, where he's lived and when."

Jo frowned, not wanting to hear any mention of the man she had only just recently met but already despised; the urge to grab her gun was becoming an instinct, when Henry's voice sounded so scared.

Henry turned the second page over and, at the bottom, the most recent name was written there, but it had no address.

_Lewis Farber, 2013 1_

"Someone's been tracking him," Henry said, finally.

...

_ Thirty-seven _

_He could see Julius, heading up the steps; he could almost call out and be heard, perhaps. Vitus started running, hoping his fears were unfounded, but a man Vitus didn't recognize had placed himself beside Julius and was staring at Vitus in a strange way, just as Vitus' foot landed on the first stair._

_Vitus opened his mouth to yell at Julius to turn around, but something happened very quickly. The man directed Julius to a connected room of the theater, made a gesture to someone in the room, and they were out of sight. Vitus rounded the steps and made to follow them, wanting to glimpse Julius again, but another man stepped out of the room, emerging from the shadows of the threshold and blocking Vitus' path. In the next moment, the man moved forward and stabbed Vitus in the stomach-just that quickly._

_Shocked, Vitus ground his teeth together and gripped at the man's clothes, trying to gain purchase so as not to collapse, but the man shoved him away and retreated into the room. Vitus slammed down against the floor, his breath leaving him. The floor was cool against Vitus' skin, but the pain searing through him was a far worse distraction; he could see past the shadows and deeper into the room, the longer he laid there, hot blood running all over his hands and across the floor-could see Julius standing amidst a group of men. He opened his mouth to warn Julius, but it was difficult enough to even take one breath in and let it out; his vision was swimming out of focus, and it felt as if there were a raging fire climbing up inside his abdomen, threatening to steal the air from his lungs. Gasping for some kind of strangled breath and clutching his warm stomach, Vitus was speechless as he watched the men assail Julius until the man fell to the floor, swallowed up by the violent crowd and lost to Vitus' view. He could hear the struggle, though-_ oh _, he could hear._

_It was, in fact, the last thing he heard._

_..._

_Aeliana sat on the side of the bed that Vitus usually slept upon; she'd avoided her children's questions, their curiosity about where their father was, for the better part of the day with some frail excuse that she'd hoped would appease them for the night. She'd also done it without breaking down and weeping before them, somehow._

_She sobbed silently now, her hands clamped over her mouth, vision distorted by her tears. She'd been doing so for nearly two hours; night had fallen and Vitus hadn't returned. An urgent pain in her chest reminded Aeliana that he likely wouldn't return at all, that she wouldn't wake to see his smile, that he would never again hold their children. It was a bitter thought that invaded her mind, interrupted her night, and chased away any slumber she might have found. She cursed his stubbornness, the argument they'd had, and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of fresh air that did her no favors; she only cried harder._

_Standing there, she had to cast a teary gaze up at the sky; it was a ritual of hers, ever since she'd been a captured child, ever since she'd been orphaned. She couldn't help but wonder if Vitus was one of the brightest stars now, looking down at her grieving soul; she couldn't help but be utterly destroyed by the notion, and she had to lower herself to the ground, worried she might scream or collapse or lose her wits and pull her children out of bed-tell them that their father was never coming home._


	10. Chapter 10

_ Thirty-seven _

_Aeliana's face came into view, again and again. Flashes of the first sliver of blue eyes, that first smile, that first touch-it all overwhelmed Vitus in a mere moment. He thought he heard Tauria's laughter, thought he caught a glimpse of his son's smirk, thought he felt Aeliana's warm breath against his cheek as she wrapped her arms around him. She closed her eyes, in his mind-it was serene._

_Vitus broke past the surface of the Tiber River, through the cold and the shock, to emerge whole and unharmed, gasping and shivering, his heart pounding painfully fast. Rapidly, he looked all around him, astounded and terrified with tears in his eyes. Hurriedly, he waded across the water and to the bank, clawing at the ground for some sort of purchase as he pulled his weakened, naked body out of the water. He coughed up the icy water, gripping his stomach that still throbbed with the phantom of the pain he'd just felt; there was no one around, and for that he was thankful-he collapsed upon the ground, face pressed to the hard, cool earth, trembling._

_He laid there for minutes, retching water and shakily wiping the tears from his face._

_Julius was dead; he'd witnessed the murder. Vitus himself had just died, or so he'd thought. He could hardly comprehend it, and certainly didn't want to. The only thought that mattered to him had been his last: Aeliana._

_So, he picked himself off of the ground and promptly fell back upon it with a surprised yell, his knees weak and unreliable. The pulse at his throat ached, and the adrenaline leaving him made his vision swim dizzyingly. Water still dripped from his mouth, and it ran into his eyes and puddled onto the packed ground. He had to find them, this he knew-he couldn't let his weakness stop him. He tried standing again, sniffling, and sighed in relief when his legs seemed to have regained their strength, at least in part. Slowly, he made his way across the bank, praying that he could figure out where he was, hoping that the cold wouldn't kill him before he could return to his family._

_…_

_Aeliana sat tending the fire that Tiberius had been too grief-stricken to start, and she tried to pretend that she couldn't hear Tauria sobbing behind her, her small arms wrapped around Tiberius' neck._

_She distracted herself with watching the flames lick up into the air, with moving her hands before them and feeling the heat there; she distracted herself with anything and everything, recently._

_It had been a week since Vitus had left their home that morning, a week since he'd tried to go and save a man who was doomed; they'd all heard about Caesar's death, but nothing of the man that no one knew had tried to save him._

_She hadn't the heart to send word to Tiberius and his family, back home; she wasn't ready to give life to the words any more than necessary. Her children had fallen into her arms when she'd told them her suspicions, and yet afterwards they'd remained stubbornly distant from her, as if she reminded them of their father in some unbearable way. Aeliana could hardly blame them; she would have likely ignored her parents, as well, to grieve when she was taken as a slave, only her parents had never been there to be ignored._

_She wanted to comfort them, but she didn't know any way that they would accept, and so she tried to at least stay strong for them, if nothing else. She'd cried so much that she felt sick, her eyes sore and her face tender to the touch, but she convinced herself it was the last few days of receding winter that gave her body pain rather than the sorrow of Vitus' death. Perhaps she wasn't so convinced, though, after all._

_Outside, she heard a soft noise and turned to glance at the door, sighing heavily. Often, some lost wanderer would find their way to their home and ask for either shelter, food, money, or passage to some well-known place in Rome; Vitus often obliged._

_The thought pained her, but she stood and made her way across the room, glancing in concern at small Tauria and Tiberius sniffling against one another; she almost reached out to embrace them, but the noise outside became louder until Aeliana realized that it was some sort of rasping sound, likely someone wounded hoping for aid. Aeliana certainly wasn't in the mood to cater to any strangers, but she knew that it was what Vitus would have done, and so she opened the door and braced herself against the cold wind, stepping outside and across the grass that crunched beneath her feet. Squinting against the sunlight, she cast a hand over her eyes and looked to where she saw a silhouette limping toward her, just a few yards away._

_But she recognized that gait, that torso outlined in shadow-her heart soared, though it hurt to even begin to hope._

_Vitus' face came into view, and his skin was reddened and bleeding in places; he wore a torn piece of cloth that only came down as far as his knees, and she wondered where he'd found it. Of course, that was a curiosity that blossomed later; her only thought in that moment was how badly she needed to wrap her arms around him._

_She rushed to him and gingerly embraced him, wary of his wounds but overcome with her joy, and cried against the crook of his neck, laughing as she heard him murmur gratitude to the gods, as he chanted her name and those of their children like they were holy prayers, in total relief. He finally let out a breathy laugh and buried his face in her hair as Tauria and Tiberius emerged in half-frightened curiosity from the house._

_They weren't so aware of their father's wounds when they ran to hug him, but he didn't mind at all._

__


	11. Chapter 11

"We can't take this to Reece," Jo muttered angrily as they hurried into the car, "and the department is our best chance at finding out who the hell these guys are." She concluded, lost. She put her hands up above the steering wheel, as if trying to say something else, but she closed her mouth in frustration and slapped her hands back down on the wheel, reaching around to start the car as Henry closed the passenger door, the papers clutched carefully in his gloved hand.

"It doesn't make sense. Why would the victim have had a hidden list of Adam's identities in a box with Griffin's name on it?" Henry spoke into silence, trying to formulate any plausible reason in his head, but he was coming up blank before Jo put both her hands on the wheel, turning to him.

"Well, we only have two real options."

Henry doubted either of those was 'let's take this to Reece.'

…

"You never answered our question," Jo reminded impatiently, sitting beside Henry at a crowded booth staring at a smudged glass wall that Griffin was smirking behind. Around them, there was shouting and laughter and noisy sobbing and Henry was feeling highly uncomfortable, but he needed answers.

"Well, you never answered mine," Griffin countered smugly. For a man in prison for the rest of his life, Griffin seemed to be doing quite well. Sighing, Henry closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.

"Yes, orange suits you," he finally answered, and, at that, Griffin smiled contentedly and gestured to the pieces of paper they'd carefully laid out in front of the glass.

"Years ago, my father had an artifacts contact with his own Nazi connections; he was a devoted Nazi supporter, and my father wasn't so moral, either. But this man's son, Owen-he despised his father and all he'd done to aid the Nazis-travelling to Europe to collect, smuggle, and store stolen possessions of Holocaust victims here in the States. So, when Owen's father died, Owen got in contact with me. I wasn't that much of a fan of my own father, for the very same reason-so I could relate. Owen gave me all of the possessions because he didn't want to have to look at them anymore, and they made a nice addition to my collection."

"Your collection of stolen possessions?" Jo asked, annoyed. Griffin only sighed and shook his head, as if insulted.

"I legally acquired most of it, you know. _Anyway_ , among these possessions was a strange notebook, full of diagrams and notes. When I called Owen about it-I was naturally curious-he started shouting at me, acting nervous and paranoid. The next day, he came to my home and demanded I give him back the notebook, which he claimed was accidentally mixed in with the other possessions. I admit, it was too fascinating for me to just give up, so we had a pretty big argument. Owen tried to physically take the book away, and we had a little scuffle-he ended up ripping a few pages out of the book and throwing the rest in my face before storming off. I had the dagger and most of the book, so I wasn't about to follow him for a couple pages."

Jo shook her head, looking at Henry.

"There isn't any 'Owen' in our files; the victim's name is Charles. How did Charles know Owe-"

Griffin held up a finger, interrupting her.

"Owen was terrified after that. I'd call to try and make amends, and he'd answer for a few rushed minutes, rambling on about how the Nazis would hunt us both down for having the pages, telling me how I should hide. I figured, if they hadn't already bothered to find us after all these years, why start now? He changed his name a few months later and skipped town; I never heard from him again."

Henry and Jo shared one more meaningful look, nodding at one another. Griffin kept a careful, curious eye trained on the pages, trying to decipher the messy handwriting.

"Are those…his names-the immortal?" Griffin asked, wide eyes imploring, almost desperate, but Henry just shrugged in his most casual fashion, thanked Griffin for his time, and hastily shuffled the pages together and tucked them away in his pocket. He followed Jo out of the facility, ignoring Griffin's protests echoing behind him.

He had a far more complicated visit on his mind.

…

_ Thirty-seven _

_Vitus wondered if he'd ever overcome the shiver that Aeliana's touch sent through him: the rush, the adrenaline, the sensation. He wondered if he'd ever get used to the way she looked outside, grinning at him even as she squinted against the harsh sunlight, red hair coming undone and whipping around her face in the breeze. That's the way he had imagined her, the way he had wanted to remember her in those supposed last moments._

_He told her as much, in the calm of night-after the children had finally dozed off with a kind of peace they hadn't felt in over a week. She only shook her head as she laid beside him, covers drawn up to her waist while her fingertips carefully explored the scar over Vitus' abdomen, feeling the roughened, raised skin there as he toyed with a lock of her hair, twirling it around one finger._

_"I never even imagined that I might witness one miracle, when I was young; I assumed I would be trapped in that hellish life," she began, smiling softly to herself with her cheek pressed against his chest as it slowly, comfortingly, moved with each of his breaths, "But with you, I have witnessed two miracles in my lifetime."_

_Vitus grinned down at her as she gently flattened her palm against the scar; ever since he'd returned, she'd been so gentle with him, as if he might break or disappear somehow._

_"What a feat that is."_

_Nodding in agreement, Vitus pulled her closer and kissed her forehead as she laughed against his chest; he felt her smile against his skin and his pulse quickened._

_"This is a sign from the gods," he finally said, and she sat up a bit on her elbows, her blue eyes bright in the darkness as she nodded in excitement._

_"They know you belong with your family, Vitus; we've been bestowed with a gift. We've been blessed!" she laughed, but kept her voice soft and quiet so that she wouldn't wake their children. She took his hands and kissed his knuckles sweetly as he threw his head back and laughed along with her, wrapping his arms around her warm torso and kissing her, relishing in the moment._

_The gods might have given him-and his family- a second chance at life, but Aeliana was wrong about one thing: they'd always been blessed_


	12. Chapter 12

“That sounds like a great plan, Henry,” Abe commented quietly from where he was leaning against the shop counter, staring blankly at his father, “why don’t you just pack your bags right now?”

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes, losing his patience but quite capable of understanding Abe’s frustration. They’d been discussing the next step all morning, and Henry was definitely going to be late to work. He threw his hands up, shaking his head.

“I know, Abe-but I’m not sure what else I can do here. It seems like the lesser evil, at least right now,” he defended tiredly, nervously adjusting the collar of his thin button-down, “Besides, I need to know if there’s more to the story. Surely, he can tell me-”

“That’s true, yeah- _but_ there has to be another way. They might have a list with your names on it, you know. You don’t need to bring attention to this, or they might notice-and we both know that if Adam didn’t have a clue about any of this and _you_ go and tell him, then he’ll freak out! We’ll have some attention then, that’s for sure,” Abe reasoned, walking around the counter to lay gentle hands on Henry’s shoulders, frowning in concern.

“I just want you to be careful, and I’m not sure if letting him in on this is the best idea. He has one hell of a temper,” he finished, and Henry gave him one of his trademark fatherly looks, clapping a hand around Abe’s wrist and squeezing comfortingly.

“I know, Abe. But what else are we going to talk about?”

…

_ Thirty-seven _

_A noise outside startled Vitus awake, but it had happened enough times over the years that he assumed it was another scavenging animal. Beside him, Aeliana breathed softly, lids closed as she dreamed beneath the covers; he smiled at the sight, though it was wreathed in nightly shadows. He thought to reach out and brush back her hair, but he didn’t get the chance-a hand came to wrap over his mouth, while an arm snaked over his own to hold them tightly together as he was yanked up out of the bed; he bit the attacker and there was a loud noise of falling and shouting and panic, and the next thing Vitus heard was the familiar crying of his children. Before he could move, two men converged upon him and they fought upon the floor, but Vitus had never been a soldier-and the men dragged him, kicking and yelling, out of the house, just as they dragged a hysterical Aeliana that bit at them and kicked at their faces, her nose bloodied._

_Tiberius followed his mother’s actions and bit harshly into the arm that was wrapped around his chest and one of the men cursed and slapped him across the face for it; Tauria was too slight to fight back, and she only managed to wriggle and scream in one’s hold. They were all being taken in the same direction, to the field outside their house-where four stakes awaited them. A man held a torch nearby, and Vitus saw the flame in the darkness and fought even more vigorously, throwing his entire body into each attempt as more men were called to control him. Aeliana shouted his name as one of the men struck him in the face with the end of another torch, and his vision was lost for far too many moments, his world darkening as he went limp, his screams cut off._

_The sound of his father’s name being spoken sent a jolt of awareness through him-he hadn’t heard that name in years. Aeliana elbowed a man and took advantage of his loosened grip as she kneed him between the legs and ran straight for Vitus; he shook himself awake and stomped the foot of one of the men holding him and threw his head back to make contact with the man’s face as they both fell backward onto the grass. Vitus scrambled to his feet as the second man lunged for him, prepared to try and defend himself, but he saw that another man was chasing Aeliana, reaching out to grab her. Calling her name, Vitus ran past the man to aid Aeliana, trying to reach her first, but as she put out her hand, all Vitus could manage before he was pulled back was to weakly grasp at her fingers, blood and dirt slick on their skin._

_The one holding the torch continued speaking, seemingly annoyed that they’d interrupted him and tried to break free, as they were all dragged to the stakes and held down to be tied to them._

_He spoke of some accusation, some event where they’d stolen his father’s property, and it took a moment for Vitus to remember his life, his head throbbing and his pulse racing. Beside him, just a few mere, impossible feet away, Aeliana met his eyes with a horrified, mournful look. Vitus shook his head wildly, straining to break free of the rope that bound him._

_“No. no! My family is innocent! Release them!” he shouted, tears welling in his eyes at the reality, “Kill me-but not my family, please!”_

_The men, nearly a dozen finally gathered around them-their faces all dark angles and shadows, only ignored Vitus’ pleas and continued, reciting an old verdict that had always sent chills down Vitus’ spine: accusations of witchcraft._

_“Several witnesses saw you die and vanish before their very eyes, and here you stand now-alive and well.”_

_Aeliana started to cry, silently, lowering her head as her shoulders heaved with sobs. The words died on Vitus’ tongue; these men were not lawful, and they certainly wouldn’t spare his family._

_His eyes widened as he watched someone carry a torch over to where Tauria was bound; he shook his head, tears finally falling._

_They screamed and cried and begged and prayed and fought to free themselves, but nothing could stop the man from leaning down and lighting the small pile of wood that Tauria’s legs rested against. She tried to climb upwards, struggled to free her hands, but she wasn’t strong enough. The men stood, stoic and watchful, as she started to scream. Vitus, helpless, was reminded of the playful screams he would have heard if he’d been chasing her around the house or tossing her up into the air, the delighted cries of joy; he heard none of that now-only agony. It was a sound that broke him._

_Aeliana screamed as if she were being burned herself, and Vitus along with her; Tiberius sobbed, defeated, until Tauria’s voice died out as she lost the breath to cry, and then there was only silence. Without hesitation, the man then lit the wood beneath Tiberius, and it took even longer for him to die. Images of his smiling face flashed in Vitus’ head, from the feel of his newborn arms wriggling in his blanket to the sound of his laughter as he raced Vitus in that very field._

_Vitus’ voice gave out, his throat raw from screaming, and if not for the rope that bound him to the stake, he wouldn’t have been able to stand. His breath came in small, weak bursts, and Aeliana had finally gone still, but she was gasping convulsively, hunched over with tears streaking through the blood and grass on her face. Vitus begged the gods to let them die, finally; he prayed that they might end the pain._

_Aeliana was the next to suffer, and her screams echoed even louder; weakly, he cried out, hoping to be heard over the crackling of the flames and shouting of his wife._

_“Please...”_

_He wanted to go with her, with them all._

_Before Aeliana had even taken her last breath, the men were all too eager to light Vitus’ pile; as the flames surrounded him, they shielded the rest of the world from his view._

_It was perhaps the most merciful death he might ever welcome._


	13. Chapter 13

“I don’t know, Henry. I think Abe’s got the right idea,” Jo advised as she pushed the chicken across her plate absentmindedly, fork held loosely in her hand, “It just seems like whenever you get around each other, he tries to antagonize you and it works.”

She looked up at him, brow creased, and shrugged. Sighing, Henry nodded in agreement and finished his own chicken breast, setting down his knife with care as he folded his hands together, thinking about his appointment tomorrow and what exactly that entailed. Through the thin kitchen curtains, he could glimpse only darkness, wondering if Adam was somewhere outside, keeping an eye on them as he tended to do. The thought sent a shiver through him and he dabbed at his mouth with the napkin to keep himself from visibly shaking in front of Jo.

He would never forget what all Adam had done, and he’d certainly never forgive; this appointment was an uncomfortable necessity and it wasn’t going to happen again. He’d talk to Adam, try to reason with him in some way; he’d make sure that Adam knew he meant business. Pulling himself from that downward spiral of thought, he realized that he certainly needed to keep Adam off his mind. After all, he was on a “date” with Jo. They hadn’t made anything official-neither one of them had even made a move yet. But Henry suspected that things were about to change.

Jo kept raising her gaze toward him as she finished her meal (they’d cooked it together, laughingly), worried about what he was going to have to face tomorrow.

Finally, after too many moments of silence, Jo sighed to herself and stood, gesturing to the living room.

“Why don’t we watch a movie? It’ll help get your mind off..things,” she suggested casually, and Henry looked over at her with a grateful smile, relived that she didn’t say _tomorrow_ instead.. They set the dishes in the sink and went to pick out a movie from Jo’s rather impressive collection while she made some joke about keeping it light; she really only had the happiest movies available on her shelves-he guessed that she’d avoided sadness in many forms over the past few years. It was definitely something he could relate to.

….

Adam considered calling it a night and collapsing into bed with a full night’s rest ahead of him, but that was often only a rare actuality, so he opted for a late night in, watching some show on TV that he’d never heard of. Lately, he hadn’t watched much TV at all, with all of that business with Henry going on-so a change was good, for once.

Not very long after (before he could even open up a much-needed bottle of wine), a knock sounded at his door and he turned, surprised. He literally _never_ received visitors, not even a confused visitor looking for the next door over; it was as if he emitted a naturally repellant aura. He was, of course, content with that idea. Perturbed, he sighed to himself and closed his eyes for a moment, glad he wasn’t drunkenly crawling out of bed to hurry to the door. Instead, he was only mere feet away; he stood from his comfortable seat on the sofa and went to answer the door. Who he faced on the other side, however, was someone he was both glad to see and instantly wary of seeing at all.

….

They didn’t get very far into _The Fox and the Hound;_ Henry had picked it out, assuming that any movie involving animated animals was definitely ‘light.’ Jo had rolled her eyes, smiling as she told him that he was the only person who’d ever think _that_ specific movie was a happy one. After the first half, Henry could tell where the plot was going, and in some part of his mind he realized that animated movies must have darkened significantly since he’d last seen one, but he was a bit distracted by Jo’s head against his shoulder, by her arms linked with his, by the scent of her hair so close to him.

It was a comfort, to have her so near-yet he was anxious. For what, he wasn’t exactly sure. Maybe the way she kept looking up at him had something to do with it; it was a look he recognized. He recalled it from the memory of nights spent with Abigail, from the memory of evenings spent at Iona’s side, from the very memory of Jo looking over at him, conflicted and hesitant, just before Abe interrupted the moment with his earth-shattering news.

..Then he realized.

He was anxious about the way she was looking at him, because he knew exactly what that meant: Jo was ready to trust him in a way few ever had. She was going to trust him with her heart, and he swallowed nervously. It was a little ridiculous, really, that they’d spent months in a kind of unlabeled relationship, building up to that moment between them now. For all of the effort and time put in, Henry prayed he wouldn’t make a mess of things as Jo leaned up and over.

….

Adam tapped his index finger against the side of the door, trying to keep his expression even and steady and impassive; Henry had always seemed incapable of deciphering Adam’s expressions, and he hoped that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. It’d be a terrible embarrassment for Abe to be privy to Adam’s own excitement at the unexpected arrival. Adam raised a brow and tilted his head in mild interest, narrowing his eyes in a way he had learned looked a lot like wary suspicion.

Abe shuffled his feet awkwardly and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Uh, hey-Adam,” he offered simply, and he looked entirely like he wanted nothing else than to be absolutely anywhere but where he was; Adam almost smiled. Abe rolled his eyes at himself, gesturing behind him and into the hall.

“I almost brought my shotgun, but I figured it’d attract some of your neighbors.  So, are you gonna let me in?”

Despite the confidence of his words, his voice was uncertain; Adam let him in anyway, slowly stepping aside so Abe could make a path directly to the sofa, not even caring to look around him at the apartment. He knew it’d be bland; what reason would Adam have for decorating?

Tense and obviously at the highest level of discomfort he’d likely ever experienced, Abe suppressed the urge to fidget too often; he didn’t want to give Adam whatever satisfaction he’d gain from it.

Adam gingerly sat on the other end of the couch. There were only two pieces of furniture in the living room: a coffee table and a sofa. His apartment was furnished for one person only, and so it made things quite awkward with Abe. Adam was extremely tempted to just sit on the table, or on the floor, even-but he finally gave in to civility and looked at Abe expectantly, silent.

…

Jo’s lips tasted like the popcorn they’d been eating-that was his initial thought. His second thought, however, was focused far more on the softness of her touch when she ran her fingers through his hair. Slowly, he brought his hand up and brushed his thumb over her cheek, feeling the warmth there. It was a small comfort to know- once she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him,-from the frantic beating of her heart, that she was as nervous as he was.

Or, perhaps, it was a large enough comfort to convince his hands to snake around her waist, exploring the smooth skin just beneath the hem of her shirt. She pulled away for a moment to smile, pressing her forehead against his. He still tasted popcorn, and let out a soft little laugh at the thought; her gaze looked just as amused when she finally met his eyes and, suddenly, it was all different.

….

“About this appointment tomorrow-Henry’s acting like it’s the worst thing he’s going to ever have to do, and I don’t blame him. You’ve made him feel trapped, you’ve hurt him-you’ve put him through hell, let me tell you,” Abe started, accusatory.

Adam leaned against the couch arm, almost rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you’ve all made that clear-I’m just wondering how you found my apartment..” 

Abe waved his hand dismissively, shrugging.

“Lucas and I did some…investigative work at Bellevue,” he explained brusquely, and Adam’s expression of boredom morphed into one of genuine amusement. He _really_ needed to meet Lucas.

“And you did all that, just to come and tell me that I’ve negatively affected Henry? I can’t say I believe you, Abe,” Adam questioned teasingly, though he doubted Abe could detect the mocking tone. That was something Henry could hardly even detect-yet Abe frowned to himself and looked at his hands. For the first time, Adam noticed that he held something small in his palms, hands clasped together. He sat up a bit straighter once Abe’s attention was cast away from him; a near-physical representation of his piqued curiosity.

“Henry’s going to walk into your office tomorrow and he’s probably going to tell you something that I don’t want him to, but I think I can talk him out of it later tonight..” he gave Adam an assessing, anxious look and then sighed to himself, ‘which is why I’m going to tell you instead.”

By all standards, that didn’t make a bit of sense to Adam, but he stayed silent and attentive.

“I didn’t want him to tell you because I knew it might…make you react, and I hate when you rile him up. It’s like you can’t resist or something,” Abe reflected in annoyance, and Adam couldn’t exactly disagree. Riling Henry up _was_ one of his favorite pastimes.

“But when I talk to him out of it tonight-and _I will_ -it would seem..I don’t know, wrong-I guess..to keep the news from you.”

He gave Adam one last judging look before opening his hands and holding out folded paper, offering it up to Adam with an obviously hesitant hand; Adam warily took the paper and gently unfolded it; it looked old and brittle.

“I don’t remember the Nazis, but the thought of them coming after me, after the people I care about-it’s terrifying. I don’t know how old that is, or if it’s even relevant anymore..” Adam set his gaze upon the first name, upon the swastika, and his breath seized for a moment, his cheeks reddening with the rush of adrenaline, the memory of it all, “but if it is, if they’re out there looking for you, looking for that list, then I think you should be aware.”

The accuracy of the list scared Adam, truly scared him in a way he was ashamed of-but then the shame turned into hot, pure anger, and his fingers trembled. Slowly, he looked to Abe, taking shallow breaths, unblinking and filled with indignation.

“I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even you,” Abe finished solemnly, though his eyes were nervous as they beheld Adam in such a state.

“Where did you find this?” Adam asked lowly, in that almost-raspy voice of his that was starting to concern Abe. He wondered why he hadn’t been this concerned to begin with.

“A dead shop owner had it; he was the son of a Nazi supporter and he had that ledger, with all your…information on it, the one they took notes in,” Abe couldn’t bring himself to plainly say what had really been in that notebook, “and he ended up with those two pages. I’m not sure-Henry said he’d had some scuffle with this historian type, and the book got ripped up a little. He seemed happy with the two pages, from the historian’s side of things.”

Adam stared at Abe for a long, silent minute, shoulders tense; he looked like he might rip the pages up at any moment.

Finally, he took a slow, shaky breath and set the pages on the coffee table.

“What were their names?”

“The historian? Griffin—I don’t remember his first name. The shop owner..His name was Owen, but then he changed it to Charles. That’s all I know,” Abe recalled, looking down at his hands so that he didn’t have to look at the mix of rage and terror on Adam’s face. It was something he imagined he might have seen a lot of, had he been a bit older during his time in Auschwitz.

“I just..don’t want you to let Henry in on this, ok? If you’re going to go after the Nazis, fine with me-but I don’t want him in danger.”

Adam looked over, his former expression slowly and carefully melting away to be replaced with one of surprise.

“And if I discover that he’s already involved?”

Abe took a deep breath and nodded to himself.

“If there’s a list, destroy it. If there are plans, derail them. And if there are people that know…well, do what you do best, huh?”

Adam smiled, but it was certainly not genuine and it was absolutely unkind; it was probably the scariest thing about Adam-behind it laid the question Abe had expected ( _why should I?_ ).

 Abe stifled his fear; he didn’t want Adam knowing that it had any effect on him. He had to focus on the fact that Adam was a survivor, above all else-that he’d get the job done and fast. A small part of Abe spoke up, too, and reminded him that Adam had been a victim, probably on more than one occasion. Before he angrily drove the voice away, it comforted him with the reassurance that Adam would likely never harm him because of it.

"You owe him, for all you've done." Adam had a fleeting vision of lunging across the sofa and slapping Abe across the face, but he quelled it and only gave Abe a hard stare, which the man noticed. He put his hands up, smirking. 

"You guys are _almost_ even, ok? That hospital was a pretty good comeback, but you've gotta be proactive here and maybe he'll come around someday. That's all I'm saying."

Abe ignored the ensuing withering look he received; he merely stood and made his way to the door.

Once he had his hand on the knob, Adam stood.

“Abraham,” he called, and Abe turned to face the immortal, preparing for the worst.

“Thank you.”

Relieved, Abe realized that was the only time he was ever going to hear _that_ voice speaking _those_ words, but he just nodded uncomfortably and opened the door.

“Don’t mention it- _really_.”

He left before he could see Adam’s grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me, Mortinez could really only go down two paths: they could go fast like Jo and Isaac had, or they could go slow because they're horribly afraid to mess anything up with each other. Also, it was sort of important for them to platonically (or maybe, not-quite-platonically) bond extensively outside of the field, and outside of work altogether-I figured that was a good way to build up to them being 100% comfortable with some intimacy. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed it? I'm looking forward to the next chapter. :3
> 
> Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	14. Chapter 14

_ Thirty-seven _

_Vitus surfaced with a single shuttering gasp, visibly struggling to swim his way to the riverbank, heart pounding so fiercely that his pulse throbbed almost painfully at his temple. He clawed his way out of the river much like he had the first time, but he couldn’t exactly recall the first time; he couldn’t recall anything, really. His only murky thought was of pain and screaming and the scent of smoke burned into his sinuses; the water dripping into his eyes mingled with the tears leaking there as his memory sharpened._

No. _It was the only coherent thing he heard, and from the way the word felt as if it’d been ripped from his throat, he guessed that he’d actually said it aloud. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the images to go away, willing his mind to forget, praying that it wasn’t real._ It couldn’t be. _It couldn’t be real._

It couldn’t be.

_He mustered the strength to tear his gaze away from the ground, instead casting it upward at the clear night sky; stars looked down at him, truthful; a memory of smoke curling into the darkness clouded his vision and he shook his head, trembling. He smelled burning flesh. He saw a flash of red hair. He heard Tauria calling out for him. He saw his son’s wide eyes._

_Vitus collapsed, openly sobbing upon the muddy bank, too weak to stand and too lost to care._

 ...

“Fun night?” Abe teased as Henry all but sauntered into the shop, rolling his eyes immediately upon hearing his son’s question.

“If you must know-yes,” Henry answered with the beginnings of a sly smile creeping onto his face; he couldn’t help himself.

Abe grinned and shook his head, coming around the counter from where he’d been counting up the money in his register till to pat Henry on the shoulder

“Hot shot.”

Henry chuckled a bit, unable to be deterred from his good mood by any of Abe’s exhaustive teasing, but Abe’s smile fell for a moment as he saw that Henry was walking past him, likely wanting nothing more than to turn in for the night. Preparing himself, he took a deep breath.

“Uh, Henry?” Henry turned, that smile lingering, and Abe shifted his feet, “I hate to spoil this..mood you’re in, but I may have..misplaced the list.”

Henry’s eyes widened and his expression transformed into a startled, worried grimace. He shook his head, beginning to gesture with his hands. Abe closed his eyes for a moment. _Here we go_.

“What do you mean by _misplaced_?” asked Henry worriedly. Abe shrugged, faking a remorseful expression as best he could.

“I had it one minute, and the next minute I didn’t. I’m…not really sure where I put it. I’ve been looking for it all day.”

Henry ran a nervous hand through his hair and nodded in acceptance; Abe recognized that look. It was the acceptance of a challenge.

“Alright, then-we’ll just look again,” Henry began as he started to turn over couch cushions and look through counter drawers, his mouth pursing into a thin line each time his search was fruitless, “It couldn’t have just disappeared. I’m sure it’s somewhere.”

Abe imagined it was either being destroyed in a fire or fueling a homicidal mission somewhere in the rougher parts of New York, specifically where Nazis apparently liked to run their operations, but Abe definitely wasn’t about to tell Henry that. He only nodded and helped Henry search for something they weren’t going to find.

After a long hour of frustrated murmurs and deep sighs, he decided it was time to speak up.

“Listen, pops-maybe this is a good thing. Maybe you won’t have to bring up the list after all, meaning you won’t get Adam all in a little conniption. He won’t believe you without hard evidence. Maybe..it’s fate?” Abe almost stopped before the fate part, worrying it’d be too much and tip Henry off, but Henry seemed to have had enough experience with questioning fate that he accepted the suggestion within a few minutes.

He gave Abe an assessing look and finally nodded to himself, frowning.

“Perhaps. _Or_ this will make things worse. After all, we now have a missing list that could easily get in the wrong hands. And who knows if they have one for me, like you said. I _need_ to find it, Abe.”

He was only glad that Henry wasn’t too concerned with the list’s absence; they both knew that if it really came down to it, Adam could handle himself-knowledge of the list notwithstanding.

Abe smiled, both relieved and immensely guilty, and continued searching for that damned list all through the night, as Henry discussed ideas with him about what he should talk to Adam about instead during their session _._

 _No rest for the wicked_ , he reminded himself.

 ….

_ Thirty-seven _

_Aeliana was young, nearly as young as she’d been when he first met her, but her eyes were far wiser than they ever were as she looked over at him, hands folded in her lap, hair pinned up in an elegant way she wouldn’t have known then. Her smile was tender-a mother’s smile. He thought it looked awfully odd on an adolescent’s face, but the thought fled just as she laid her palm over his cheek. This was familiar, so achingly pleasant and comforting and inviting. He wanted to stay with her for eternity; he wanted to stay in the darkness that surrounded them._

_“You can’t come with me,” murmured Aeliana softly, blue eyes brilliantly illuminated; it took his breath away, but he shook his head in stubborn defiance._

_“No, I want to stay. The sky is consoling,” he pleaded, but she only cast her gaze away, down at her other hand; he did the same, confused and overwhelmed, but soon looked back at her face._

_She was unrecognizable; her skin was blackened in places, and in others it was horribly bruised and bloodied. Her eyes remained untarnished, and behind her stood Tauria and Tiberius, whose skin bore similar wounds._

_Vitus gasped, horrified, before Aeliana pulled her hand away from his face and shook her head sadly._

_“You can’t; you are not like us,” she reminded him, and her voiced sounded scratched and hoarse and painful._

_“You can’t, Vitus.”----Vitus?----Vitus!_

_Vitus awoke to the sound of his name being spoken right at his ear, a distant echo that slowly pulled him from whatever hell he’d witnessed, and he opened his eyes to painful brightness, blinking rapidly to let his vision adjust. When at last it did, he saw Tiberius leaning over him, his familiar, kind eyes the color of leaves and summer grass. It brought a simple, small comfort; Vitus sighed, and the ache set in._

_His throat felt raw, parched-his body felt as if he’d exhausted every muscle, and his face was tender and throbbing, especially beneath his eyes. His head throbbed each second, and he moaned; the memory of smoke again invaded. The bed stung against his legs (_ pain? wound? _), but his next thought was lost as he panted for breath, heart racing. Tauria’s charred skin flashed in his mind._

_Cassia was there, as well, dabbing a cold, wet cloth against his skin with a grave expression on her face; her light hair fell down close to him as she cared for him, and he smelled her familiar scent with another sense of comfort. These were his friends; he hadn’t the strength for any of the confusion threatening to overtake him. These were his friends and his life was over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be longer, but since a new day starts soon, I figured I'd split it up so that the next chapter starts the next morning. 
> 
> Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	15. Chapter 15

Adam hadn’t slept; in fact, the sheets on his bed had gone entirely untouched. Instead, he’d stayed on the sofa, staring at those pages. The handwriting scared him, the musty smell of the paper scared him, and the memories it all beckoned scared him-and he’d sworn to never be scared again. That was the problem, he knew; somehow, he was still too weak, too weak to be reminded of Mengele without a rapid pulse.

Eventually, he climbed his way out of the fog to think on Abe’s words. _Griffin. Owen. Charles._

They meant something to him-he’d heard of Owen, if only briefly. He could vaguely recall the grim smile of a younger man, staring over at Adam as he passed the tent, stopping for a moment to meet Mengele’s sharp gaze with a nod of acknowledgement.

_“My son-he’s young, he can pass on the family tradition. Owen will be smart enough about it, I assure you.”_

Adam remembered hearing the American English, temporarily brought out of the haze of pain as Mengele paused in his ministrations (this time, he was being gentle-only probing at the revealed muscles of Adam’s chest), surprised that he wasn’t hearing any German, as he had been for the past few months.

There was a quick murmur, a shout, and the man had passed from Adam’s sight.

Why had Owen kept those pages that might have already condemned Adam to a repetition of a fate he’d do anything to avoid? Why hadn’t he just let the Nazis keep them?

Why had Abe been so bold as to visit, unarmed and alone? Why had he given Adam the pages? Why had he cared at all?

He had heard Griffin’s name on the news, about another of Henry’s solved cases. But Charles…The name sounded so familiar, yet Adam didn’t know why. He frowned to himself, running a hand down his face in frustration.

For the rest of the night, Adam stayed on his laptop, digging up the darker parts of history that mingled with his own past, trying to find some solution to a problem that was most likely already upon him; he kept his favorite pistol on the coffee table, and gently secured a knife at his waist. The blade felt like an old friend; it was the only one he had.

…

Henry walked into his office with a nauseous feeling in his stomach. Lucas was on break, and he was glad for it; he didn’t want anyone to see him so nervous.

Jo had given him an unusually tender smile for such a public place, urging him to go relax in his office before she drove him to his appointment, just before noon. Reece was going to be watching him leave, Henry knew. It was odd, too, that he’d been so anxious over the past few days, so sick to his stomach about the whole ordeal, and now that it was happening-he felt almost empty.

He wondered when he’d actually vomit: in Jo’s car or at Bellevue’s doorstep?

..

Adam fidgeted in his cushioned desk chair, looking around his vacant office with its comfortable furniture and meaningless photos, that degree and that tea set. It wasn’t like him to fidget; usually, he wouldn’t give a damn about any problem that came his way. The worst thing that could happen was death, and he was almost intimately familiar with that particular experience. But this was different. This was something he couldn’t shake off-this was the memory of nervously smiling children being fed and cared for by a gentle Mengele, ignorant to their fate. This was shots and screams ringing out into the empty night. This was gas and fire and ashes and the smell of rotting flesh and the moans of those desperate to die. This was torture in its worst, most sophisticated form; this was death a thousand times over, endlessly looping.

This was something Adam couldn’t return to; he guessed the technology had advanced enough now to keep him alive longer while they “investigated” his body and his mind and his blood. It would be even worse the second time around.

The office meant nothing to him, if the very next day he’d be captured by Nazis, if the very next day that list was to define the next few years of his existence.

He looked at the clock on his computer monitor; Henry’s appointment was five minutes away.

He wondered if Henry would arrive, as he’d wondered before. It was just a lot of guesswork when it came to that man, Adam was learning.

He pulled the syringe from a desk drawer, running a finger over the smooth plastic; the idea of revenge, should the need arise, seemed like a distant, trivial thing now. Abe had said that Henry was going to tell Adam about the list, implying that Henry…cared? Implying that Henry wanted to know more about the case? Implying that Henry wanted to know about Adam’s time in the camps? Implying that Henry might even fear for his own safety, where immortals being tracked was a concern?

It really didn’t matter, when it came down to it; Henry had been planning on doing something in Adam’s benefit, despite what had happened to Abigail-despite Adam shooting him.

That alone was enough to make Adam pause; he took a deep breath, glancing at the clock again.

As if summoned by Adam’s slip of indecision, there came a knock at the door.

Adam dropped the syringe into the trashcan, not really caring if it ended up sticking the janitor.

…

Henry looked oddly pale, and comically as if he might puke on Adam’s expensive shoes; he swallowed nervously and set his jaw, walking past Adam to take a seat in the chair he’d chosen last time. That moment seemed so long ago, for the both of them; so much had happened since.

“Hello, Henry,” Adam said familiarly, and it gave Henry chills.

After closing the door in silence, Adam smirked to himself, taking off the glasses that had been irritating the bridge of his nose so that they could hang around his neck, and took a seat opposite Henry, wondering if Abe had convinced him to stay silent about the list-and wondering what that said about Henry, in the end. He was good, really, but he could be influenced so easily; only a few months with Adam had darkened him to the point where he’d killed a man and trapped Adam in his own mind.

Adam was eager to see where the next century would take them both.

Henry steeled himself and tapped his knee nervously, slowly looking around him; his eyes fell on the tea tray.

“What, no tea this time?” he asked reluctantly, and Adam grinned in that odd, grimacing way of his and shook his head.

“I’ve been a little…preoccupied with other matters. Tea isn’t really a concern right now.”

Henry took the opportunity, voice stern and cautious.

“And what is?”

Adam realized that he might have shot himself in the foot just then, but he made sure that his expression didn’t change, mentally flipping through the list of things that _were_ his concern. After a second, he thought of something convenient that he could bring up, trying to steer the topic away from any possible mention of the list.

“The dagger,” he answered sharply, ready to match Henry’s hostile stare with a look of his own.

Henry, startled, raised a brow and laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.

“I’m quite certain I already gave that to you.”

“Yes, but then you paralyzed me and I lost it again. Obviously, I need it back.”

Henry resisted the urge to tell Adam that it was his own fault he’d lost the dagger, but he didn’t feel like getting into another argument; he was already mentally exhausted from the mere thought of this interaction. Sighing, he adjusted his jacket, as he might a suit jacket, and fleetingly wished winter could return so that he could wear clothes he was more comfortable in. Jo had finally convinced him to wear lighter outfits, but he was still adjusting.

“I’m afraid I don’t know where-“

“Of course you do, Henry. Let’s not play games today; I’m going to be honest with you and say I’m not exactly in the mood,” Adam interrupted curtly, leaning forward in his seat and clasping his hands together, elbows resting on his knees.

Henry stared, mouth still open after Adam had cut him off. He chuckled, smiling to himself.

“Something really must have you upset, if you don’t feel like playing games. That’s your favorite pastime, I believe.”

Adam only stared, tempted to grab the knife beneath his shirt and stab Henry out of pure annoyance. (It was a different knife, one he’d sneakily stored in a locked drawer of his office in the dead of night months ago. He couldn’t have taken his favorite one from home, unfortunately.)

Needless to say, he was on edge. He needed his dagger safe in his own hands, so that it wouldn’t fall in possession of the Nazis again; he needed it now more than ever. He only stared blankly at Henry, which made the doctor nervous.

Sighing, Henry relented.

“I’ll give it to you during our next appointment. I certainly don’t want you showing up at work again, and never at the shop. Do we understand each o-“

“I can’t wait another week, Henry. I need it sooner rather than later,” Adam again interrupted, unable to keep the undertone of desperation from his voice.

Henry heard it, and tilted his head, almost curious. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You’re…afraid. What’s happened?”

Adam laughed mirthlessly, leaning back to absently touch his glasses. Henry thought it strange that he could so easily switch personas, yet mix them together just as easily in the next moment.

“Don’t be silly, Henry. I’m just tired of chasing after it, especially when it’s so close.”

Henry didn’t skip a beat.

“It won’t work, I told you that. There’s no death for us, and I’m not sure why you want it so badly if it won’t help you.”

Adam smirked, ignoring the bitter pang of anger at the memory of Henry gloating to him in the hospital about the futility of Adam’s theory.

“Then let’s just say it has sentimental value, so to speak,” he dismissed easily.

“There’s no such thing as sentiment with you,” Henry argued instantly.

Adam let out a genuine laugh, and Henry was caught by surprise. These moments were so rare, and absolutely unwelcome-but there was a part of Henry that liked to see the human side of Adam, some days; it was yet another part of himself, he was discovering, that he felt unnerved by.

He ignored the thought and waited for Adam to stop laughing, and when he did, Adam shrugged to himself and nodded.

“Touché.”

…

_ Thirty-seven _

_“How-how did you find me?” Vitus asked brokenly, sitting up in bed as outside of the room Cassia tried to divert the children’s attempts at eavesdropping. Tiberius had a warm hand on Vitus’ knee, which was cut and roughened by the rocky ground he’d collapsed upon after his resurrection. He’d been crying, but he looked far better than Vitus did, whose face was swollen and red and still slick with tears. Tiberius seemed hesitant, even reluctant, to speak._

_“…Ael-Aeliana..sent me a message after you came home. She told me what had happened, where you’d been reborn. She…was certain that it was a blessing from the gods. I hadn’t the time to reply before word spread here, but it was..about witchcraft and death and your father-your father sent men away. We didn’t know what was happening, but I left to find you. I prayed,” his voice gave out for a moment as he looked down at his hand on Vitus’ leg, lips trembling as he tried to speak, “…Vitus, I prayed—that I would be able to come in time but I, I am so sorry, my brother. I cannot fathom-“_

_Again, he lost his voice, and it gave way to tears as he brought his other hand up to gently lay it on Vitus’ bare shoulder._

_“Vitus, I am so sorry.”_

_Then, they were both crying, and Tiberius wrapped him tightly in his arms, knowing his embrace could do nothing to heal the man he’d once thought fragile, so long ago. Nothing could heal this kind of damage._

…

“Now that we’ve settled that particular problem, let’s talk about another,” Adam began again, standing to pace about the room. He hated sitting still while talking to Henry; remaining motionless-it was a reminder. Henry guessed that Adam just wanted to intimidate him, gauge his reactions-like a creature circling its prey.

“…about our conversation at the department, I mean. I feel as if I..” he shrugged causally, going over to his desk to arrange some scattered papers, “may have given you the wrong impression. While I certainly intend to defend myself if the need arises, I don’t think that should be the focus here.”

He turned around to face Henry, who straightened in his chair.  

“I didn’t kill Abigail, Henry,” Adam spoke plainly, careful to keep any tone of annoyance from his voice, as Henry’s gaze hardened, “If I said I regretted what happened, it’d only be for the years she set me back. She made her choice, and I tried to save her-albeit selfishly. I won’t apologize-because that’s what happened. You’ll just have to accept that.”

Henry stood and stiffly approached Adam, shaking his head furiously with tears in his eyes.

“If you hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have died-that’s all I know. Her last moments were spent..terrified and-and suffering… _with you_ - _because of you_ ,” Henry sputtered, face reddening with anger, “and you expect me to just _accept it_?!”

Henry laughed, but it was cold and painful and raw; Adam hadn’t ever heard such a sound from Henry.

“I will _never_ accept it, Adam.”

There was a moment of silence, and Adam felt that he didn’t need to say anything more; Henry wasn’t capable of listening now. Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm him, Henry closed his eyes for a moment, trying to rid himself of the images of Abigail that surfaced with his rage; it was still too much.

“This session is over,” he choked out roughly, hands shakily balled into fists as he quickly left Farber’s office, all but slamming the door behind him.

Adam might have recognized the look on Henry’s face, had he been a thousand years younger-at least, he might have remembered how it felt.

Maybe some part of him still did.

…

Adam, or Farber, left Bellevue at the end of the day with tired shoulders and a throbbing headache; he’d been victim to a stray backhanded slap during a client’s rather physical PTSD episode, and the hall lights had been changed that morning-something he was painfully reminded of each time he walked out of his office, assaulted by a sinus headache. And he just hadn’t been able to sit comfortably ever since Henry’s session.

He’d contacted Reece and told her how well everything had gone, and he’d went through the motions of his day-but something was different and he didn’t really know if he wanted to figure out what exactly that something was.

The sun was blinding, and he’d regretted forgetting his sunglasses on the kitchen counter that morning (admittedly, he’d had other things to worry about), but the breeze was light enough to stave off the heat for as long as his walk to his car was concerned.

…

She drank the milkshake too enthusiastically; she tended to do everything in such a fashion, though, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. It was, however, a regret, seeing as how her front teeth hurt something awful; she pressed a hand to her mouth and fleetingly hoped no one had seen her flinch of pain.

She quickly threw the empty cup into the trash and continued her stroll along the warm sidewalk, blonde hair being tossed by the wind, green eyes squinting from the harsh light. She was so distracted by the coming sunset that she almost didn’t see a man hastily making his way to his car, just across the street. This was an important thing, for she always liked to take notice of any random stranger; she made it her mission to flirt with every one of them and hope for the best. His gait was..tense, she thought-yes, _tense_ was the word. He had his hands stuffed down in the pockets of his pants, wearing a thin plaid button-up.

Definitely someone she probably shouldn’t bother.  

Disappointed, she sighed wistfully, thinking that he had the right build- _what a shame_ -until he opened his car door and turned to look around him for a moment, as if paranoid.

Her eyes widened.

…

Adam climbed up the stairs of his apartment building, hoping no neighbor popped out of their hole and wished him a good night, somehow drawn to the British pep he emitted in his Farber clothes. It was always a chore to keep up the façade under such specific, annoying strain.

Distracted by his thoughts, it took him a moment to realize that his door was open, once he finally found his way, unencumbered by the neighbors he wished didn’t exist; silently, he pulled a knife from beneath his belt, pulse quickening.

He’d had one in his car-it would have been difficult to take the one in his office out of the building. Thankfully, he was prepared for a great deal.

Quickly looking around him to eliminate any outward threat, he gently pushed the door open and slowly slipped inside, knife familiarly held aloft.

He remembered that there was a part of the floor where the hardwood creaked, and he easily stepped around it when the time came as he made his way down the small hall that lead to the living room and kitchen; he frowned once he made it to the living room.

His apartment was wrecked: furniture was overturned, drawers were pulled out and emptied, papers littered the floor, and the kitchen cabinets were all open and had been searched through.

He dreaded finding out what shape his bedroom was in, and briefly worried over his laptop.

He didn’t have time to worry about anything else, though, since a man darted out from behind the kitchen counter, aiming his gun as he rushed towards Adam, who hurriedly ducked sideways and grabbed the man’s arm to bring it up and down with just enough force that it broke at his shoulder when Adam maneuvered around him.

The gun fired, regardless-Adam didn’t see where the bullet went. After a while, hearing a gunshot meant nothing-it only became a concern once the bullet hit you.

The man shouted out in pain, grunting as he reached around and clawed at Adam’s face relentlessly, his fingers far too close to Adam’s eyes for his liking.

Beckoned, two more men came rushing out of the other hall, from the direction of Adam’s bedroom, and one shot Adam’s shoulder from behind. He had to admit, _that hurt_.

Crying out, Adam put all his effort into bringing his other hand up to stab the man through the back, releasing his arm and ripping the knife out as the man stumbled forward; he grunted as he tossed the knife to the other hand, likely unable to move his wounded shoulder like that a second time.

Hissing in pain, he ignored the blood that spurted from the wound, warming his skin as a fire burned within the bullet hole (or, at least, it felt like a fire). The third man didn’t have a gun in his hand, but he was reaching for one at his back. Adam saw his shooter aiming for another shot beside the unarmed assailant; he grimaced as he threw the knife as hard as he could, watching it bury itself hilt-deep into the shooter’s chest. The man collapsed, and that left one.

The man pulled his gun from his belt but Adam was already tackling him to the floor, wresting the gun from his grasp, but the man kneed him in the stomach and slapped the gun out of his hand, which went sliding several feet across the floor, and Adam rolled away, clutching his abdomen. The assailant clumsily rushed to get the gun, but Adam stumbled to his feet and lunged to grab the man’s calves, dragging him back and climbing over him so he could reach the gun instead; Adam drove his knee into his spine for good measure. In the next moment, he picked up the gun and twisted around as the man grabbed his ankles, aiming between the eyes and firing as quickly as he could. The man fell dead against the hardwood.

He wished he’d had time to take one of them alive for questioning, but he didn’t like to take chances when it came to Nazis. He gasped, wincing as he lowered his arm; even breathing hurt. He pushed himself up and staggered over the dead bodies to investigate the rest of the rooms. Upon seeing similar disarray in each, but no more men, he doubled back and searched the bodies for clues; they didn’t have identification on them and they’d carried no money. Frowning, Adam clutched his shoulder and took a deep breath, face stinging from the scratches and nail imprints on his skin; he felt warm blood trickling down the side of his cheek and wondered if there were injuries he’d yet to notice.

The police would arrive soon, and he’d have trouble leaving the building-with all the neighbors no doubt flooding out of their rooms. He panicked for a moment over how he’d explain this to his bosses at Bellevue, or how he’d deal with this at all; Lewis Farber wasn’t the type to be assaulted and simply just leave the scene, but Adam knew he couldn’t stay. There would be more, and he wondered if this was the only place they knew of.

What if they came to Bellevue next? Or what if they knew of Henry?

The thought startled him, and he realized that he needed to contact Henry quickly; he could very well be next.

He could easily die and get out of the situation, but he didn’t want to leave the list or his laptop behind, and he needed to give Henry concrete proof of the break-in, just in case Henry thought it was some trick.

Then, he had an idea.

Not caring how they’d found him (he’d worry about that later), Adam pressed a towel over his shoulder and collected his laptop, tucking the list inside it as he slowly grabbed a long coat out of his closet; he made his way out of the apartment and was glad that all of the previously screaming occupants of the floor had wisely fled. Mysteriously bundled but thankfully covered, he shoved his way past the groups on the bottom floor, stumbling out of the building.

A blonde woman wearing a tank-top and shorts casually followed him out, a second milkshake in her hand. 

_ Thirty-seven _

_It took one long, agonizing week for Vitus to speak again, to tell them what had happened, and it took another week more for Vitus to finally come to the realization that he was damned. He hadn’t been given a second chance at life; he’d been cursed-and his family had paid the price._

_Tiberius wouldn’t allow him to venture outside of the house, afraid he might be seen by the wrong people-or even worse, his own father. Vitus had yet to decide what he needed to do, but paying his father a visit didn’t seem such a poor idea; Cassia would hear nothing of it, though, and Tiberius let her._

_Vitus was still too weak to actively rebel against their decisions._

_They knew what Vitus would do, even if Vitus himself didn’t. After all, what were consequences, if you were immortal?_

_What was life? What was crime? What was death?_

_It was nothing, nothing at all._

_Since Vitus had stopped crying and screaming and squeezing their arms when they embraced him, he’d been different; it was as if he had nothing left to feel._

_Tiberius tried to ignore the dead look in Vitus’ eyes, praying that the light would return._


	16. Chapter 16

_ Thirty-seven _

_“It isn’t safe, Vitus,” Tiberius repeated patiently, seated at the table across from his long-time friend, while Vitus only glared, dark circles beneath his eyes, “I understand, trust me. But returning home will give you nothing but pain, and you’ll likely be discovered if you try to kill him.”_

_Cassia, coming to the table to lay her palms gently over the wooden surface, nodded at Vitus with a forlorn expression, nearly pleading._

_“If you kill him, you may only entertain temporary peace; that isn’t what you need,” she murmured softly, and Vitus was reminded of Aeliana’s wisdom, for a brief, aching second-before he rushed to shut the thought out._

_He couldn’t think about anything else but killing his father-or else he’d be unable to do anything at all. The longing to go back, to walk through the halls his children had played in, was almost unbearable; he wanted to know what had happened to their belongings, to their home-to their bodies._

_Feeling as if they weren’t being understood well enough, Cassia and Tiberius shared a familiar look, and Cassia walked over to gingerly take Vitus’ hand in hers. She had long, delicate fingers; Aeliana’s hands had always been worn from labor. Vitus frowned and ignored the tears welling in his eyes._

_“Live your life- and he will not have won,” she advised sadly._

_Unspoken between the three of them was a very different sentiment: Live your life-and you will heal._

_Vitus ignored it, though, and paid heed to the new thought growing in his mind._

_“If I cannot return home, and I cannot find my father-can you help me with a third endeavor?”_

_…_

_Shadows danced over the cold, hard floor that Vitus could still remember well-the way it had chilled his skin as he’d bled out upon it. Treading lightly, Tiberius’ eyes darted around the room, filled with the shine of paranoia and adrenaline. Vitus wanted nothing more than to travel the familiar route to his house, but Tiberius would hear nothing of it, and so they’d agreed upon returning to the site of Vitus’ first death (his first-it was certainly a phrase he’d have to become accustomed with…his first death, his second death….his third). How many deaths would he die? How many lifetimes would he know?_

_The train of thought disturbed him so greatly that he had to take a moment to think of anything else, opting on the faint blood stain on the floor. It had been scrubbed, multiple times by the faint look of it-and yet the ghost of death remained there. He knew that wasn’t Caesar’s blood; Julius had died further into the room. Frowning, Vitus bent down to touch his palm to the spot, hoping that perhaps the shock of it might wake him from whatever nightmare he’d been subjected to for the past two weeks._

_But nothing happened-Aeliana didn’t wake him from his fretful slumber, Tauria didn’t jump into the bed and tell him to wake, Tiberius didn’t tickle his nose with a blade of grass he’d plucked outside._

_Tiberius laid a hand upon Vitus’ shoulder and suggested they leave, in that hushed, cautious way-but Vitus’ gaze caught the shimmer of light in the darkness and he narrowed his eyes, curiosity piqued._

_He reached over and brushed his fingers over the object, receiving a shallow, sharp cut upon his thumb. His eyes widened._

The dagger.

_Quickly, he grabbed the hilt and brought it into the moonlight, where it gleamed up at him-his blood dried on the blade._

_Tiberius watched Vitus with concern, wanting to be anywhere but in the city, wanting to be home with Cassia and the twins. He swallowed nervously, squeezing Vitus’ shoulder._

_“We should leave,” he advised quietly, and-for once-Vitus only nodded absently, agreeing._

_..._

_ Forty _

_Priscilla’s growth surprised Vitus; only months ago he had been able to carry her on his shoulders with ease. Now, he could barely keep running with her long enough to keep her playful spirit satisfied._

_Tiberius reminded him that Priscilla hadn’t been that young in three years; Vitus acted like the reminder didn’t bother him._

_Cassia’s twins were just alike, Priscilla and Marcia-always running after their uncle in an attempt to play in the fields, to make the most of his permanent stay._

_Tiberius hardly ever had the time, and Cassia wasn’t the playful sort-though she had been when the children were infants. Vitus wondered what had changed._

_…_

_ Forty-five _

_“It’s unfortunate that you’ll have them wed at the same time; they’ll be competitive otherwise,” Vitus joked as he clapped a hand on Tiberius’ shoulder. Tiberius smirked and rolled his eyes, looking up at Vitus with some genuine amount of worry. Vitus caught it, as he did most things, and sighed, shaking his head and taking a seat on the ground beside his brother._

_“I know they’ll be fine-they have to be. You’ve raised them well, and you’re a good judge of character, hm?” Vitus nudged Tiberius with his elbow, and Tiberius nodded, as if trying to convince himself that it was the right thing to do._

_“I just want them to be happy, in the end,” he spoke to the wind, looking out at the open sky with a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. Vitus averted his gaze, not wanting to reveal the shine of jealousy in his own._

_Neither man gave life to the thought they shared: the scene felt so familiar, talk of marriage and happiness and love._

_…_

_ Fifty-five _

_Cassia’s blonde strands were graying in places, and when Vitus teased her she blamed the sunlight and slapped his arm with a small smile; Tiberius only kissed the crown of her head and laughed._

_Priscilla, seated on the floor as her son crawled over to her with stubby, exploring limbs, grinned up at Vitus._

_“At least Father hasn’t a wrinkle upon him-unlike you, Vitus.”_

_Marcia chuckled and applauded Priscilla’s teasing, as Vitus beamed at his nieces-aware in some distant part of his mind that he would someday never hear their laughter._

_This only made him eager to hear it more, and he leaned down and plucked the baby from the floor with care, bouncing him in his arms._

_“We’ll see how you’ve fared when_ you’re _thirty-seven, dear,” he countered, pressing a gentle kiss at the top of the boy’s head, closing his eyes for a moment._

_“I thought you were well past that,” came Marcia’s voice in the darkness behind his lids, but he just hummed a soothing note he’d once hummed to his own infant son, unwilling to let anything interrupt the moment._

_…_

_ Sixty-seven _

_“Someday, we will not be here-“_

_“Please,” Vitus choked out, silencing Tiberius’ sentiments._

_Tiberius closed his mouth, turning his head to watch Cassia slowly walk back into the room from where she’d closed the door. Priscilla, Marcia, and their families had just left; they’d been having a grand dinner. The twins had been the same age as Vitus, or so it looked-it’d made for a strange evening, but one Vitus wouldn’t soon wish to forget. He’d even teased a surprisingly pregnant Priscilla about the creases at her eyes, and Marcia had laughed freely._

_He took a deep breath, reaching over to grab Tiberius’ cold hand._

_“I don’t want to give it life, understand?”_

_Tiberius tore his eyes away from Cassia’s limp, sighing heavily. It’d been given life long before then._

_…_

_ Seventy-one _

_Vitus wouldn’t tear his eyes away from his hands, which rested heavily in his lap; he couldn’t focus on anything else._

_Or perhaps he just didn’t want to._

_“You must look at me,” came Tiberius’ hoarse, soft plea, and a tear slipped down Vitus’ reddened cheek as he frowned, his mouth pulled to one side, taking deep breaths in an effort to control the sick feeling in his stomach._

_In the silence, his breaths were raspy and sounded painful to Vitus; he was glad that Cassia hadn’t suffered in such a way. She’d fallen down a flight of steps, and it had been over-such a vibrant life, cut down in a single moment of breaking bones and a shout._

_Vitus couldn’t believe it was that simple._

_On the opposite side of the bed, Marcia sat with her hands intertwined, sniffling with wet cheeks, green eyes vivid; Priscilla had died giving birth only a few short years ago. Marcia looked to him, imploring._

_He felt her gaze upon him and let out a shaky sigh, looking up at Tiberius, withered and sickly on his deathbed; Vitus’ cheeks were warmed with more tears, streaking down his face in hot trails that came to rest, cooling, at his jaw._

_Tiberius managed a small, feeble smile, sunken into the sheets._

_“Don’t look so sad, Vitus-I’ll be well soon,” he murmured, starting to cough. Vitus flinched at the wet sound of it, twisting his mouth up and keeping his gaze steady, even though he wished to do anything but continue watching Tiberius die._

_“I..don’t want you to go,” Vitus confessed hoarsely, shaking his head, “You’re my brother; I can-can’t watch you die.”_

_Tiberius offered up a trembling, weak hand, and Vitus eagerly accepted it, clutching tightly to the one friend he’d known all his life._

_“It’s alright-I’ll…give them your r-..regards,” Tiberius assured, and Vitus’ heart sank._

_Marcia closed her eyes, not wanting to see it, not wanting to hear it; this was Vitus’ pain as much as it was her father’s, but she stayed by his side, clutching his other arm. She tried remembering him as he had been ten years ago, and then as he had been when she was small and playful and so young. It came as a small comfort to imagine him smiling, to ignore what she knew resided past the safety of her closed eyelids._

_Vitus’ breaths came in short, choppy gasps, and he leaned forward to press his forehead to Tiberius’._

_“Thank you, for everything.”_

_Tiberius held his smile a moment longer, staring into familiar eyes-praying for Vitus, praying for his family._

_And then his eyes were empty, still and lifeless, and his grip was slack and cold._

_Vitus hadn’t made such a sound since the death of his family, but he cried freely now. Not even Marcia’s comfort, so reminiscent of Cassia’s, could console him._

_…_

Abe, Henry, and Jo had gone out to eat, feeling in a collective way as if Henry needed a distraction from the stress of that appointment. Abe and Jo had been all too happy to make a shopping pit-stop, and Henry had a few summer clothes to add to his wardrobe by the end of it.

Walking the short distance from Jo’s car to their shop, Abe nudged Jo’s arm and laughed to himself after implying that Jo should spend the night.

“Or you could go to her place, Henry.”

Ahead of them, Henry turned to give his son a withering stare, cheeks tinged red; realizing this, he quickly turned back around and hoped Jo hadn’t noticed him blushing-it was completely unlike him to blush.

“Hey, you could just teach her how to play chess or something,” Abe called out, turning to Jo with a sly grin, “It’s not like that’s a code word for sex or anything. I mean, not that I have any idea if you _have_ had sex yet but I-“

“That’s quite enough, Abraham!” Henry shouted as he quickened his pace down the sidewalk, reaching the door first and shoving the key in the lock with impatience. Jo’s laughter followed him as she approached, but he walked into the store before they could catch up with him, sighing to himself as he set the shopping backs on a table.

“Yeah, I’d love to play some chess,” Jo countered as Abe closed the door behind them, the shop sign bouncing momentarily against the glass; Abe laughed whole-heartedly.

Henry might have grinned, too, at the thought-an old habit he couldn’t exactly refrain from. But there was a noise that sounded above them, and Henry instantly went on guard; Abe and Jo had heard, too, and cast their gazes upward, suspicious.

Jo reached into her purse, pulling out her gun and throwing the bag on a chair as she followed Abe and Henry up the stairs to the second-floor apartment; when they finally reached the top, they followed the noise to the kitchen, where Adam stood behind the counter.

Jo immediately raised her arm to fire, just as Adam looked up at their arrival, chopping lettuce with a loud knife.

“That’s ill-advised, detective,” he said plainly, pausing in his work to set the knife down on the countertop. He had on a cotton shirt that was stained with blood, and his right sleeve was rolled up past the shoulder, which revealed a stitched, puckered wound that looked fresh, “seeing as how I’ve already been wounded. It’d be a pity to be shot twice in one night, wouldn’t you agree?”

His face was scratched and reddened in places, as if a cat had tried to maul him. Jo hesitated for a moment, looking over to Henry who shared a cautious glance with them in turn. It said: _wait_.

She shook her head, gun aimed.

“I don’t think so, no.”

Adam almost laughed, but he was too sore to make the effort, and instead he focused on Henry.

 “What the hell are you doing here? How—get out! Now!”  Henry shouted angrily, taking a step forward.

Adam put up his hands, smirking.

“Now, Henry-we really should talk-“

Henry threw his hands up, going over to the counter and reaching around to take the knife away.

“Fine-what are you doing in my kitchen?”

Adam looked around him for a moment, noting how Jo was still aiming her gun and how Abe looked nervous.

“I was hungry,” he answered simply, and Henry felt the urge to stab him flare strongly. He wondered how long he’d be able to resist.

At the way Henry’s glare intensified, Adam smiled to himself and finally relented.

“I needed to patch myself up-“

“And a hospital wouldn’t have worked just as well?” Henry interrupted aggressively.

Adam leveled him with a pointed stare.

“I’m not so fond of hospitals, Henry.”

At that, Henry shrank back a bit, not expecting to be reminded of Adam’s punishment so soon.

“Couldn’t you have patched yourself up at your apartment?” Henry asked after an awkward moment.

“Why patch yourself up at all?” Jo added, “Can’t you just..kill yourself and restart?”

Adam laid the lettuce down on the counter, realizing he’d likely never get to make a sandwich with these kinds of questions, and flattened his palms against the smooth top.

“My apartment was ransacked, and as I was coming home from work I was attacked-I killed them, but I expect more will follow. I received a few…injuries during the scuffle, and I couldn’t just kill myself to get out of the situation because I had some valuable pieces of information to protect.”

He gestured to the closed laptop near his hand, and Abe raised a brow.

“You wanted to protect a computer?”

“It has some….incriminating information, where our affliction is concerned,” he explained carefully, glancing at Henry, “and I was protecting this, as well.”

Attempting to avoid meeting Abe’s gaze, Adam pulled the list from where it was stuck between the laptop, waving it in front of Henry’s face.

“I felt that returning this to the Nazis wasn’t the smartest idea.”

Henry’s eyes widened significantly, and he snatched the pages from Adam’s grasp with surprise.

“How did you get this?!”

Adam looked at Abe; Abe looked at Adam.

Henry noticed.

Whirling, he pinned Abe with a stare only a son would recognize: Abe had long ago coined it _The Incoming_.

Jo lowered her gun, but kept her finger near the trigger, as Henry questioned Abe.

“I just thought he should know, and I didn’t want you two getting all worked up over it. It never ends well when the two of you get worked up over _anything._ ”

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but Abe held up a hand.

“You know I’m right. And it’s done, anyway-I think there are more important things to worry about right now.”

“Later, then,” Henry reluctantly reminded him, sighing to himself and turning back to face Adam, who wisely hadn’t moved. Adam was growing weak (he’d only sewn up the wound so blood would stop dripping onto everything, but the bullet was still inside), and his arm throbbed, despite the massive amounts of pain medication he dredged up from Henry’s medicine cabinet. He was also getting a bit nauseous, and a bit sleepy. He figured it was all related; it wasn’t as if he cared for his health _that_ much.

“I just wanted you to be aware, Henry, that more will likely follow. You could be…in danger, to put it lightly-if they know that we have something in common, that is.”

Henry visibly paled; being reminded of that fact, by Adam himself, was an entirely unwelcome turn of events.

Adam moved to walk around the counter, and he noticed Jo lift her gun again; he laughed, feebly- _damn, his weakness was starting to show._

“You can go ahead and shoot me now, Detective Martinez-I know it’ll bring you satisfaction. I’ll leave my laptop here, for safekeeping-it has a password on it, but perhaps you’ll take it to your friends at the NYPD and make things interesting. Either way, I’m done here,” he said, looking to Henry, “You can burn the list if you like. I’ve gleaned all I can from it.”

Jo thought for a moment about the trouble the sound of a gunshot might make, but it was a brief consideration; smirking, she took a step forward.

“I have a better idea,” she explained as she walked over to Henry and held her palm out, waiting for him to hand her the knife he still clutched to.

Henry looked surprised, but after a moment he awkwardly passed the knife along; it still had pieces of lettuce stuck to it.

“One more thing, Henry. I can’t return to my apartment-the police are likely out looking for me, since it was under Farber’s name. I made quite a…commotion, during the fight. I might…ask a favor of you, from one immortal to another-I know how fond you are of favors.”

The humor wasn’t lost on Henry; the memory of immediately rejecting Adam’s request for a favor in the cemetery surfaced fleetingly. He frowned, sighing, thinking of Adam’s call for a truce in the police lounge.

“I’ll consider,” he replied curtly.

Adam lamented the sandwich as Jo stepped forward, staring up at him with wary eyes; he nodded to her, prepared. It wasn’t like he’d never been stabbed before.

Jo took the unexpected route, though, and slit his throat-vigorously.

…Almost as if she couldn’t wait to do it.


	17. Chapter 17

"That was…violent," Abe commented uncomfortably, not so keen on having just witnessed Adam's throat leaking blood all over the floor (Jo had sidestepped, but crimson drops had managed to speckle her cheeks).

Henry, at a slightly higher level of discomfort, stared at Jo, brow raised; she turned to him, setting the knife down on the counter.

"He deserved it, for everything he's done; besides, I couldn't shoot him. What else was I supposed to do?"

Abe, walking over to the blood puddle, frowned and looked up at Jo.

"Ok, but… you're gonna clean it up, right?"

…

_ Seventy-two _

_He had waited until nightfall- and even then, the darkness felt as if it was waiting to betray him, to give him away._

_This kind of paranoia was new, even for him._

_Walking along the path that he knew would lead to his old home, Vitus felt oddly detached from it; he knew the ground, knew the steps-it was achingly familiar._

_Yet, it was familiar from another life, familiar in the mind of a version of Vitus that had died years ago._

_He didn't know if he would ever grow accustomed to that._

_Taking deep breaths, Vitus slowed his pace once he could glimpse it; he took hold of the dagger latched at his side, clutching it tightly. After tonight, this would be all that he had left. There was a certain bitterness clinging to that reminder, but he wasn't willing to fully face it just yet._

_His brothers had moved into their old home once their father died, and one had passed away ten years ago. Now, there remained two brothers and two wives and two pairs of children with their own families, all under the very roof Vitus felt sick even looking at._

_Finally, he summoned the courage, heart racing, and approached the front, quickly rapping his knuckles on the door. Several minutes passed, and no one answered. Frowning, Vitus knocked again, only to meet the same end._

_After a moment of thought and a calculating glance taken at his surroundings, Vitus forced his way inside, running up against the door with as much strength as he could muster; he fell inside and landed roughly upon the floor, letting out a small shout and immediately regretting his decision. What if they just hadn't heard him?_

_But he looked up and gasped—no, they definitely hadn't heard him._

_Only a few feet from the door laid a very still, very lifeless, and very aged_ _body-his oldest brother. Blood had pooled around his torso and his brown eyes-so like Vitus'-stared emptily._

_Vitus struggled to his feet and remained there, transfixed. He hadn't wanted this; despite his brothers' cruelty, he had never wanted this. He'd only wished to question, to discover if they'd known of his father's plans to kill his family._

_But this? Vitus wasn't a murderer; he probably wouldn't have had the strength to kill his own father, if it had come down to it. Tiberius had been right._

_Slowly, Vitus stepped around his brother's body, walking further into the room only to find a second body, this one a middle-aged woman whose face was deeply cut, a similar pool of blood stagnant at her back._

_Vitus counted._ Two.

 _Then,_ four.

Eight.

_They all had different wounds, though some had their throats slit and others had gashes in their chest, as if they'd been impaled by a sword. The bodies hadn't started to decompose yet, but the blood smelled strong, and Vitus had to cover his mouth and nose after a few minutes._

_He looked all throughout the house, but he couldn't find the young children; they would have been toddlers, this he knew._

_He didn't hear them crying, and he couldn't find their bodies-under furniture, in baskets, outside. They were nowhere to be found._

_Taking that as a relieving sign that they might still be alive, Vitus sighed. Closing his eyes for a moment, he dismissed the thought of telling anyone; they'd be discovered in a few days, anyway, and Vitus had places to be._

_He ignored the memories of his childhood, and the questions nagging at him, and rushed from the house, wrapping his cloak tighter about his shoulders as the chilly wind bit at his skin, unaware that a small pair of eyes watched him in the darkness of the woods._

_…_

_He didn't know what he'd expected, but he certainly wasn't surprised._

_His house had been burned to the ground years ago, from the looks of it. The stakes his father's men had set up were gone, as were the ashes and bones and charred flesh that would have been near them. Vitus didn't know what had happened to their bodies, but he wasn't so sure that he even wanted to know at all. There was nothing to see but trees and grass and an open, cloudless sky filled with points of light, and Vitus thought for a moment that Aeliana would have appreciated the quiet serenity of such a place; Tiberius would have told him about constellations and Tauria would have chased after the fireflies._

_Vitus didn't even realize he was crying, but he kept the scene in his mind, regardless. He swore to himself that he'd never forget it, and allowed himself one last lingering, painful glimpse of the stars, hoping that Aeliana's belief had become a reality._

_He prayed that she was looking down on him, happy with her parents and her infant sister, happy with Tiberius and Tauria._

_He prayed and he wished-but in the end, he could only imagine that they were the brightest stars in the sky._

_…._

_He remembered Marcia asking him where he was going to go, asking why he wasn't going to stay._

_He didn't know where he was going, but he knew with strong certainty that he was leaving Italy; he doubted he'd ever return._

_He'd lied to her as she'd asked the second question; he couldn't watch her die, and he couldn't watch the rest of them die. He couldn't be there for that, and he'd rather remember her warm embrace instead of her last painful breath._

_It was an idea that Marcia, with that strong, loving, fierce ghost of Tiberius living within her, couldn't comprehend, and so he had told her he'd return in five years._

_He left Italy with a heavy heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that was short because a lot's going to happen in the next chapter and I didn't want to interrupt it.
> 
> Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.
> 
> And also, I got an 8tracks account which I've been having fun with and decided to make a playlist for this fic. :3 There are 20 songs on it as of right now, and each song pertains to a specific character, relationship/dynamic, or arc (keep in mind, some of said characters and certain arcs might be ones that haven't been introduced yet), so that by the end of the fic, the playlist will hopefully make sense. (If you want, at the end, I can list which song went with who or what.)
> 
> Either way, feel free to listen to it if you want (and even try to guess which song goes with what or who-that'd be fun)!   
> (I had to put spaces and parentheses between some parts of the URL because it wouldn't let me post otherwise)
> 
> www. 8tracks (.com) /singlebeagle/intentions


	18. Chapter 18

She ran up the stone steps, the skin of her palm ghosting over the railing, and hurriedly shoved the key into the lock before opening the door, rushing through the foyer in an attempt to reach the living room as quickly as possible, coming to a quick halt when she saw Tafari and Silas lounging on the couch like spoiled house cats, mindlessly watching TV.

Behind them, the wall was covered in maps and newspaper clippings and grainy photographs, with strings pulled taut over thumbtacks. She hadn't been there in a week, and was disappointed that nothing had been added to the wall. Panting, she shook her head, just as Tafari's dark eyes glanced up in surprise; he stood, a concerned expression shadowing his features, as Silas lazily took note of her composure and sighed to himself, reluctantly turning off the TV.

"Did someone reject your sexual advances?" Silas asked teasingly, and she rolled her eyes.

"No—my record remains intact. But that's not the point," she explained as she moved to a specific place on the wall, plucking a photograph from where it was pinned. She walked back to them and handed the picture to Tafari, eyes wide and hopeful as she searched the fleeting expressions that came over his face: the confusion, the surprise, the hope. He looked down at her imploringly while Silas didn't bother to look at the photo at all; he'd only seen it a hundred times.

"I found him, or at least I think it's him—oh my god, I can't believe I almost flirted with him," she murmured, briefly horrified at herself. Tafari laughed and laid a palm on her forearm, squeezing gently.

"Finally," he sighed, and there was such relief living in his voice that she couldn't help but smile, eyes softening, "Where do we star-"

"That's great and all, Adelaide, but it doesn't help us much-she's still not here."

Adelaide and Tafari levelled Silas with a look of annoyance, but he merely stared back, unaffected. He had light brown hair and blue eyes that almost always looked grey, but his looks hardly compensated for his personality. Adelaide frowned, shaking her head.

"This is our priority now; I've already scoped it out a little—he got attacked, got in a scuffle, and went to this tiny little antique shop. I didn't follow him in; I'll go soon, I guess, and then-"

"This is still our priority," Silas yet again interrupted, pointing to the wall, "This won't change anything."

Adelaide reclaimed the photo and took a step away from Tafari, nostrils flaring in anger.

"Do you ever pull that stick out of your ass?" she asked vehemently, clutching to the picture. Silas smirked, then shrugged to himself.

"Only on Saturdays," he retorted.

"Then we're in luck-tomorrow's a Saturday, and you can bet your soon-to-be-unplugged ass that we're going down to that antique shop. This is the first lead we've had in…well, ever! And I'm _not_ going to let you ruin it. That wall will always be there, and I'm not saying that I'm giving up…but…this?" she spoke as she waved the picture at him, emerald eyes filled with conviction, "won't be here forever, at least not in New York. If we don't pursue this, then who knows when the next chance will come around?"

Roused by Adelaide's shouts, Sevil and Vickie sleepily emerged from the hall that lead away from their bedrooms, with rumpled clothes and messy hair; Adelaide stared at them incredulously.

"What the hell? It's the middle of the day…"

Sevil shrugged, smiling to herself.

"We had a fun night," she offered simply.

Knowing exactly what a _fun night_ entailed, Adelaide suppressed her instinctual grin and looked around, suddenly curious.

"Where's Felix?"

Vickie came around to collapse onto the couch, taking both Silas and Tafari's seats at once, stretching.

"I think he's out getting burgers or something-who knows, really."

…

"As far as being inconspicuous goes, I believe you've done a terrible job," said Henry as he took a seat beside Adam on the park bench, laying the heavy envelope down in the space between them. Adam stared off into the distance, watching a dog fret over a squirrel that would forever evade him; he'd changed clothes, and his hair hadn't dried properly. Henry wondered where he'd slept, and then wondered why he was wondering in the first place. Adam shrugged, but it was hardly noticeable.

"I figure if a Nazi wanted to abduct us, he might hesitate in a public park-far too many witnesses. Besides, fresh air is good for you; I doubt you get much of it as of late, being cooped up in your office during the day and in your homemade lab at night," he said plainly.

Henry turned to him, just a bit surprised.

"..How did you know about..?—Ah, nevermind, I don't think I want to know," Henry relented, settling back on the bench. Adam smirked, but Henry didn't see it.

"You're probably right," he replied, and then there was a long stretch of silence, filled only by the distant squeals and giggles of children and the excited barking of dogs let off their leashes.

The image of Abigail seemed burned into Henry's mind-the image of her skull emerging from the mud, of her ashes carried off into the wind.

Whenever he saw Adam, whenever he even thought of Adam, he saw Abgail's smile.

_I didn't kill Abigail, Henry._

Henry balled his hands into fists, trying to erase the vision of her at their wedding, the softness in her gaze; he closed his eyes and struggled.

Adam cast a sidelong glance over at Henry, curious; eventually, he let his attention be pulled back to one of the dogs, not wanting Henry to catch him staring.

Finally, Henry wished away her memory, if only for the next few minutes; he sighed, weary.

"How did you get new clothes?" he asked, hoping for some sort of distraction.

Adam smiled to himself, but it was an old, tired smile that Henry had often witnessed on the faces of dying men who'd seen enough of life.

"I have clothes stashed around the city, so I don't get arrested," he explained, and Henry nodded to himself, wondering why he hadn't thought of that.

"That's…a good idea."

"Well, I wouldn't do it if it weren't. Besides, I've had far more experience at it than you; it's only natural that I'd have learned a few things."

There was another pregnant silence, and Adam moved to pick up the envelope, clutching to it like he was just about to leave.

_You'll just have to accept that._

Henry sat up straighter, clearing his throat.

"You're all over the news; they're investigating your case at the department, although no one has expressed a clear suspicion of homicide yet."

Adam's stance-hunched shoulders, rigid posture-relaxed just the slightest as he leaned back in his seat, no longer seconds away from leaving.

"It will likely remain an abduction until they find Farber's body," he replied lowly. Henry balked.

"So, what? You're not going to return to Bellevue, clear the investigation with some excuse?"

Adam turned to look at Henry head on, offering up a withering look, but his mouth turned up at the corner in an uncharacteristic show of sly amusement.

"I don't think there's any kind of excuse to sweep this situation under the rug, Henry. There are three dead Nazis in my apartment, I myself am missing, and my blood is all over the hardwood."

Henry's relief was nearly palpable, and Adam had to pretend that he wasn't about to laugh; he had to look away to quell the urge.

"Then you're really leaving?" Henry breathed, eyes wide.

"Oh, I see that you're all bent out of shape about it," Adam answered as he looked back over to the doctor.

 _I'm here now_.

Henry nodded to himself, shrugging.

"Well, you can't blame me."

_You were made like this for a reason, but it wasn't for me._

Adam ran his palm down the envelope's front, feeling the outline of the dagger therein, and he stared at it for a moment, thoughtful.

"Reece is tempted to take me off the case-for personal reasons, I suppose. Abe agrees with her," Henry lamented.

"You should go easy on Abe, for giving me the list; without his warning, I might have been in a Nazi laboratory right about now," Adam advised quietly.

Henry looked out at the midday landscape, watching the clouds roll by.

_Life is about the journey._

"Yes, well-he's a good person," Henry explained, awkward and uncomfortable, "and…thank you-for finding his parents."

"It wasn't hard; I just knew where to look."

Henry frowned. Could Adam sound any more arrogant?

"And who to kill," Henry reminded him in a clipped tone.

Adam threw his head back, as if he might laugh, but he just stared at the sky for a moment and finally stood up instead, clutching the envelope as if it was his last hope on earth.

"That was just a perk, Henry."

He turned and walked away from the bench, back toward the road; Henry stayed there a while, wondering if a Nazi might jump out from behind the bushes and snatch him away. As ludicrous as the idea was, he couldn't help but feel some of Adam's paranoia.

Finally, though, he imagined a world without Adam, wishing it hadn't come thirty years too late.

…

_ 225 _

_Vitus had exhausted all other efforts, throughout the years._

_But perhaps, if there was even a slight possibility—there could be a chance, if he moved the blade in just the right way, in a new way. If he slashed his right wrist first instead of his left, if he used a different kind of rope, if he fell from some new height, if he fell from some new angle, if he used a different kind of blade._

_None of it worked, and he didn't even have the scars to prove it, to prove to his unsettled mind that it was real, that he'd already tried it—that it wasn't just some false memory he'd dreamed up. The absence of physical proof convinced him that he had just imagined the failure, that he might could try it all over again. He tried a "new" way three times over, unaware that it wasn't actually new._

_He always had the dagger, but never thought to use it._

_…_

_ 381 _

_Absolon bit his bottom lip in thought, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Vitus emptily stare up at the ceiling as he laid upon the stone floor, blood pooled beneath him from a burning cut on his throat; he took a stinted breath and vanished from sight as Absolon cursed under his breath. Another failure._

_…_

_ 383 _

_"You could string me upside down, instead of-"_

_"You have tried that twice now, Vitus," Absolon interrupted softly, watching Vitus pace back and forth. Vitus stopped, whirling on Absolon and giving him a lasting, surprised glance._

_"Have I? Oh, I…must have, yes-that's right," Vitus dismissed weakly, sighing to himself._

_"I…we can start anew, tomorrow. A new day, that is fitting," Vitus mumbled to himself in a dazed, odd state, and Absolon frowned and walked over to him, laying a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder._

_Absolon was young, with a mess of blonde hair and dark eyes that were one of the kindest Vitus had yet to stare into; he lead Vitus over to a chair and they sat in silence, until Absolon cleared his throat and took a deep breath._

_"Vitus, I know how you have suffered, how you are suffering. I know that there is no…there is no cure for this affliction-at least not one we have discovered yet. Perhaps it would be wiser, and even beneficial to your state of mind, if you let these efforts be-if only for a few years," he began softly, squeezing Vitus' shoulder comfortingly._

_Vitus gave him a look of desperation, eyes watering._

_"No, no—I cannot merely...accept defeat. I cannot give into despair-"_

_"This is not despair, Vitus," he explained calmly, "This is hope-what will keep you strong. Surround yourself with those who will love and care for you, and you will not be alone."_

_With wide eyes, he pleaded with Vitus, staring at him with such hope on his face._

_"I do not wish you to be alone, Vitus-it will kill you."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The semester is over, yes! I can breathe now (while working full-time, oh man). Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	19. Chapter 19

_ 391 _

_Vitus' breaths were labored, laden with blood that trickled from his mouth each time he exhaled; he recognized the sensation and prayed it might greet him swiftly._

_Death, that is._

_They should have known better than to stay in Gaul, should have fled when the chance was all but laid at their feet; Absolon wasn't the traveling type, though, and Vitus had respected his wishes to die in the very place he was born. It was a common, understandable sentiment-one Vitus himself had abandoned years ago. The place you were raised was not your home, not always. And Vitus could never leave someone behind, not so quickly._

_The raids had gone on for a day and a half now, and the hard marble beneath Vitus' knees was unforgiving against his chafed skin._

_"I've told you..There is nothing to pillage in this home," Vitus spat angrily, though weakly, at the Frankish men before him, staring up at them in defiance._

Damn them _, he thought fleetingly as he glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch sight of Absolon's body. His brown eyes were wide open, seeing into nothing, and his light hair was stained with the blood that had spewed from the line across his throat, the very blood that pooled around his body. Vitus' own hair was covered by it, and his cheeks were wet with tears. He'd been so young; what a waste._

_One of the raiders raised their ax and Vitus closed his eyes, eager for the relief._

_…_

_ 635 _

_"I must leave soon," Vitus spoke quietly, staring down at his clasped hands in the dim light of the sunset outside, not wanting to look up and meet Alwin's gaze, which was surely both surprised and immediately curious. His hair was starting to turn grey in places, yet his pensive eyes were as clear as they'd been when Vitus had first met him, only a few short years ago. He'd been reluctant, in the midst of the war and bloodshed that had fallen upon the last of Rome's influence, to stay in such a place, yet he'd found a kindred spirit during his final moment of indecision and had stayed far longer than he'd planned._

_The Saxons weren't kind, and they weren't forgiving, and Vitus knew that a time would come when their reach would spread entirely-and that day would either see Vitus dead, or see him gone. He wasn't so certain what old, wise Alwin might choose. Between Vitus' short visits and the rest of his lonely days, Alwin had nothing-no family, no descendants. All he had to occupy his time with was the religion he'd once comforted Vitus with._

_Alwin sat only a few feet away, thoughtful as he stared at Vitus, tilting his head._

_"I was wondering when you'd tire of this place," he joked lightly, the corner of his mouth turning up, "though I must say I will be sad to see you off."_

_Vitus nodded to himself, thinking of all the years Alwin had guided him through long, unending nights of memories and sorrow with his hopeful speeches and comforting prayers; he'd been reeled back into the folds of humanity through knowing Alwin, had been reassured of the kindness in the world. He only wished that he wouldn't soon forget again._

_"I'll save us the trouble of a farewell and only say that I believe your name is growing old, even for you," Alwin laughed in the silence, and Vitus couldn't help but grin. Yes, it_ was _about time for a change of name; he ignored the ensuing pang of guilt._

_…_

_ 700 _

" _Have you ever killed, Vitus?" came Alwin's voice, echoing in Vitus' head-only, he wasn't Vitus anymore. His name was Brom (a name he'd carried with him when he'd left Alwin to meet his own fate) and he was still barely accustomed to it, still hardly accepting of the idea that he had to leave that old life behind, finally._

_He hadn't thought of them in years, even a century, but the urgency of his pulse reminded him of another night with fear and tears and death. Blood trickled down from his fingers, dripping off of his elbow and onto the cold soil._

_"Yes, I've killed," Vitus murmured, and a spark of worry brightened in Alwin's gaze as Vitus laughed to himself, "but only in defense-protection, that is. I would never…merely slaughter…"_

_But now, his blood was rushing, and his head was light, and he watched the life drain from the body at his feet with a slow, curious kind of attention. He didn't have to kill him; he'd just been so angry._

_So angry._

_…_

_ 793 _

_He hadn't held a baby in over seven centuries, had actively tried his best to avoid doing so, yet he was left with the task of disposing of a sickly little newborn that was already holding his thumb with some sort of determined grip; he couldn't stare at her for long, for fear of actually feeling sorry for it._

_Her parents had been disappointed, but they were wealthy and young and had plenty of other children to think about; they couldn't waste their time caring for a child that might not see its first birthday._

_And so, Vitus was holding her in one hand and holding a knife in the other, studying her small features and her dark, unblinking stare. Her skin had an unusual color to it, and she wasn't crying; to him, it felt as if she might be prepared to die._

_The universe hadn't favored him so greatly, and he'd been a servant for only a few years- certainly not long enough to arouse suspicion, with his immortal looks-but he cherished the position enough to obey their dismissive orders._

_Yet…his hand trembled when he held the knife over her skin, and the heady rush of blood didn't greet him, nor did the growing sense of fulfillment. The void remained, open and greedy, and he hadn't even the adrenaline of a kill to fill it with._

_This death would give him nothing._

_Tucking the knife back into its pocket, he held her closer-and she released her hold on his finger and yawned quietly._

_Trying to ignore how she moved slowly in his arms, he had to remind himself that she did not have blue eyes and would not have brown hair._

_She would die, just as everyone else did._

_Absently, he gently rocked her._

_…_

_ 805 _

_Ida threw her head back and laughed when he panicked, ducking to narrowly avoid being kicked in the head by the horse he was shoeing; he fell to the ground, muddy and frustrated, yet couldn't help but laugh along with her. Her amusement was contagious that way._

_With her ebony hair pulled back, Ida looked just a bit older, yet her pale skin and small, frail frame gave her away. She came over and held out her hand to help him up, and he was tempted to pull her into the mud just to get back at her, but decided against it at the last minute and allowed her to slowly pull him to his feet._

_"Now, what if I had died? You laugh now…" he teased as they began to work together to shoe the horse. Ida gave him a sideways, mirthful look, smiling to herself._

_"I've seen you die once already; I believe any future incident will be far funnier than the first time."_

_The secret poured so easily from her lips, but they were too far away from the house for it to matter; he let himself laugh, freely._

_…._

_"You're leaving."_

_It wasn't a question, and it wasn't gentle; her voice was raw and sad and already wistful, as if he was now just a faded memory that she'd soon forget._

_He turned from the horse he was preparing to steal, caught off-guard by her intrusion; the sky outside was dark, and everyone else was asleep, yet Ida stood there with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair. He wondered what had woken her._

_He opened his mouth to explain, but she held up a small hand._

_"You've been here too long; I understand."_

_Unspoken, the reason for his extended stay hung between them; Ida smiled sadly, and rushed over to him so that she could wrap her arms around his torso, squeezing as tightly as her weak arms would allow._

_"Goodbye, father," she murmured, tears in her eyes, before reluctantly turning away from him to trek back to the house._

_He hadn't cried in twenty years, and was starting to think he might have forgotten how-but he wiped his eyes then._

_…_

_ 808 _

_Her legs had tired long ago, her breaths had become short, raspy gasps, and her cheeks were flushed-but Ida smiled at him whenever he asked if she was alright; she clung to his back as he ran with all the speed he could muster, fleeing from the men trying to hunt them down. At such a young age, she'd been caught in an arranged union with a husband who treated her as nothing but property._

_He'd crossed paths with her, bruises on her skin and hopelessness in her eyes; she'd begged him for help._

_How could he say no?_

_So, he'd killed her husband in a decidedly unwise moment of anger, and they'd committed at least three crimes by the time they realized they were being chased. Ida seemed unfazed by the blood staining his shirt, and only worried over the fact that the men were on horseback while they were left with their weakening legs; they'd been running for hours, it seemed, and there was only so much time before the horses caught up with them._

_Finally, fate doomed them._

_He tripped, and as they fell his ankle snapped from the weight; he'd broken countless bones, and so it was easier than it should have been to stifle his shout, yet Ida panicked._

_Quickly, he grimaced and stood, holding out his hand so that she could climb up on his back again, but she sat on the ground with a sad expression on her face, staring worriedly at his leg._

_"How will you carry me? You cannot run like that, and they'll catch us," she explained solemnly, tears starting to well up in her dark eyes, "and I cannot gain enough strength."_

_He hopped to keep his balance and sighed, shaking his head._

_"We must go, Ida. I can carry you-now come."_

_She wasn't looking at him._

_"They'll catch us," she wailed, "They'll always catch us."_

_"Ida…" he said softly, pleading._

_Finally, she grunted as she pulled herself to her feet, leveling him with a determined stare._

_"You go on, and I'll stay here."_

_Incredulously, he blinked at her, shaking his head furiously as he tried to think of something that would convince her, though he knew that she was right. They'd be caught within the hour._

_"Wh-what?! No, no! I can keep going, Ida-just climb on my back, and we'll keep going. I swear it-I will!"_

_Sniffling, she smiled up at him, nodding._

_"I know," she whispered hoarsely, "but when they catch us, they'll discover your secret. They'll torture you; it will never end. And…I can't be saved, here. They're coming and you are wasting your time."_

_He stared at her, silent and horror-stricken, eyes wide. Her lips trembled, and a tear slipped from her eye and rolled quickly down her reddened cheek._

_"Once they find me, they'll stop looking-they don't know about you. Now…go."_

_They stared at each other for a moment longer, and he felt tears coming to his eyes, his face warming._

_"Please," she begged, and her voice gave out as she started to sob. Quickly, he reached out and embraced her tightly, closing his eyes as he pressed his cheek into her hair, not wanting to let her go._

_Not wanting to let her die._

_Yet he pulled away, wiping the tears from his face and gasping for a clear breath._

_She offered up a smile as he turned away from her._

_…_

Abe stared at the log-in screen on Adam's laptop, hands resting over the keys as he tried to think of what the password might be. Across the room, Jo was watching Henry, unable to believe what he'd told her.

"So, he's just going to leave? It's that simple now?"

Henry nodded, sighing to himself as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"It seems like it, though he might come to get his computer. He made it clear that he wants to leave," Henry explained, almost as disbelieving as Jo was.

Jo thought of all the crimes Adam had committed, all that he'd done to Henry, and worked her jaw in contemplation; they couldn't frame or arrest him, and they couldn't kill him. All they could do was tolerate him, at this point-he posed a true threat to Henry, and they couldn't play games.

Sighing, Jo realized that there'd be no justice, and the detective in her rallied against the decision to let Adam leave, free of consequence.

But she didn't have a choice. Henry didn't have a choice.

 _Henry_ , Abe typed curiously, snickering to himself. He tried every combination of upper and lower case letters that he could think of, but he came up empty. He tried _dagger_ next, with no luck.

"This investigation must have really freaked him out, to send him packing," Jo reflected, albeit just a little proudly, and Henry frowned to himself, brow furrowed.

"I saw what the Nazis did-their notes, their sketches. It was…gruesome. If I'd been through that, I'd do anything to avoid it a second time," said Henry softly, and Jo averted her gaze, not wanting to think about it.

The silence that followed was laden with something that felt like cautious sympathy, and Jo refused it with a quick sigh and shifting of her feet.

"Reece told me that she wants us to work harder at closing the case, today. Since we didn't tell her about the pages or Adam-she doesn't think we have any leads. And she's not just happy with thinking Nazis killed Charles; she wants a name, the specifics. She's going to find out about our little visit with Griffin soon enough, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep lying to her. And now, with this whole Farber thing…She was all over me this morning."

Henry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as he crossed his arms in thought; he opened his eyes to give Jo an assessing look.

Jo stared at him, expectant yet patient.

"What do you want me to do, Henry?"

He couldn't tell her that he didn't know.

Abe turned from his seat and saw a coat draped over one of the kitchen chairs.

"Is that Adam's coat?"

…

_ 978 _

_He was forgetting._

_Forgetting faces, names, sounds._

_He was losing the softness of Aeliana's touch, losing the sound of his children's laughter, losing all of the people he had loved. His memories were blurring together; he couldn't remember if he had met Alwin before or after he met Absolon, and he couldn't remember what color Tiberius' eyes were, or what Cassia looked like._

_It was painful and all too real; it wasn't another of his endless nightmares. It was real, and it would never stop happening. He would lose more and more of his memories the longer time wore on, and he would never get them back. Forlornly, hopelessly, he cried out to any deity above –praying, begging, wishing._

_It was as if all his past sorrow and grief had been waiting in the shadows to come and strike at him in his most vulnerable moment, for he was unable to open his eyes, unable to move, hardly able to breathe._

_All he could do was stay curled upon the floor, sobbing and screaming and desperately wishing that he could die, wondering what he had done to bring about such a lonely, hideous curse._

_He was alone, and his own mind was betraying him._

_Out of all the chaos came a single, eventual certainty: he couldn't recognize Vitus._

_Vitus was as dead as his family._

…

Adam sat in an alley, back resting against one of the buildings, holding the dagger close. He'd officially lost his hold in New York, and likely wouldn't be back for a century or so. This premature exit angered him; he had no choice, and Adam hated having choices stolen from him.

He'd had such plans-what a pity.

His absence meant that he would have to wait even longer to get Henry to see reason…which meant being alone, just a little while longer.

 _Just a little while_ , he told himself.

What was a century, when you'd seen twenty of them already? What was one more?

Reluctantly, he picked himself up and started walking in the direction of the shop. He had to pick up his laptop while it was still light outside, while there were still people around. He had wanted to talk to Henry alone, in the park-but now, he hardly cared if Henry had company or not.

He was tired of being on edge, tired of feeling old anxieties crawling up to overtake him, and all too eager to be rid of the past few weeks. Someday, Henry would realize that Adam had been right. Someday, Henry would lose his last hope, too, and he'd understand.

But until that day came, Adam would just have to wait.

He had plenty of time.

…

Adelaide was unnecessarily gazing through binoculars as Adam walked down to the antique shop; she could see through the window as a dark-haired man came to greet Adam inside, and then they walked on and she lost sight. Cursing, she set the binoculars down and unbuckled her seatbelt, preparing to get out of the car and go inside to investigate, but Silas, lounging in the passenger seat, gently grabbed her arm to stop her.

"You know, I was thinking-if we really are dealing with a 2,000 year old immortal, we might should…take precautions."

Adelaide stared blankly over at him, fingers inching toward the door handle.

"Precautions? Are you serious?"

Silas shrugged lazily, tipping his sunglasses back so they rested atop his head.

"He has experience," he explained simply, "and he might not be friendly."

…

Abe handed Adam the laptop, still curious about the password, while Jo and Henry shared looks.

"Thank you," Adam murmured, oddly, and then turned to Henry.

"Did you burn the list?" he asked, and Henry thought that he sounded…efficient, in a way. His tone was clipped and distant and serious.

Henry pulled the list from his pocket, frowning.

"I…couldn't decide what to do with it, actually. I've been focused on other matters," he admitted, and Abe threw up his hands in a way that only someone who'd been dealing with immortal drama for 60 odd years could master, sighing to himself as he went over to the counter and picked up the case files that they'd borrowed from the department.

"Well then, _I'll_ decide. We burn it all, and then Adam leaves-and then this is over."

Everyone stared in silence as he held the files aloft.

"Alright?"

Henry shook his head, taking a step toward his son.

"Abe, those aren't copies. Those are the real files-if we burn them.."

"Then you'll just have some explaining to do; it's not like you've never lied before," he said as he walked over to gently pluck the list out of Henry's grasp. Jo smiled, in total agreement with this attitude. Clinging to any evidence the Nazis could find was a bad idea. Henry finally smiled, relenting.

"Anybody got a lighter?" she asked, and Abe turned to her with wide eyes.

"Oh, no-we're not going to do it in here. Look around, detective. Think I'd risk burning all this up? Accidents have a tricky way of getting out of hand in this family," he explained before going upstairs to get a lighter, "No, we're going outside."

Adam had to appreciate Abe, occasionally.

As they made their way to the back door, Adelaide and Silas got out of the car and started toward the shop.

There was some old metal trashcan out back, in what looked like a small alley just behind the shop. Abe dropped the files into and lit the aged list on fire, dropping it in, as well. They all watched the flames eat away at the evidence, standing side by side around the trash can.

Adelaide pushed open the shop door, but no one was around to hear the bell sound overhead; Silas followed her in, finding the ensuing silence just a little too unnerving.

…Which surprised him, considering how many unnerving things he'd seen in his life.

"I admit, it's…a relief, knowing that it's gone," Adam said, to no one in particular, and Henry nodded in simple agreement, thinking of his own position.

From around the corner, four men came and approached them as they stood against the back of the shop.

Simultaneously, a shot rang out from above, and Adam collapsed onto the dirty pavement, moaning; Jo moved to grab her gun, yet she wasn't fast enough to aim at the man who was already rushing at her with a syringe in his hand.

They struggled, trying to fight back against their attackers, yelling and biting and punching, but the men had already injected them all with whatever had been in the syringes.

Adam regained enough awareness to loosely kick at one of the men who bent over him to prick the skin of his neck, and then they all fell entirely unconscious.

Adelaide and Silas, after a thorough tour of the shop, eventually found that the back door was open, but once they were outside, there was only a rusty trash can and a stain of fresh blood on the pavement.

Adelaide stared at the spot with worry, and then shared a look with Silas.

"Where'd they go?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	20. Chapter 20

Adelaide absently ran her fingertips over the counter as Silas paced back and forth, his hands tightly clasped behind his back; his stance was tense and his jaw was clenched.

“If it’s true, then we’ve lost him—vanished! How can we screw up this many times?!” he shouted as he stomped about, mouth drawn in a thin line.

Adelaide closed her eyes for a moment, both disappointed in herself and overwrought with guilt, until her hand slid into something solid and she glanced down to examine it.

“Why would they have just left...will they be coming back? Were they abducted? Did they just go out to eat?” Silas asked himself, running through all of the possible scenarios in his head as Adelaide opened the laptop she’d just discovered.

“I need answers,” he finished, huffing.

Adelaide smiled to herself as the log-in screen lit up and prompted her to enter in a password.

“Vickie knows about computers, right?” she asked softly, and Silas, distracted from his deep thinking, turned to give Adelaide a confused look.

“A little, I think—oh, what’s this?” he asked as he eyed the dagger that was set beside the laptop, walking over to carefully pick it up and turn it over in his hands.

“This looks…Roman, don’t you think?”

Adelaide ran her fingertip down the aged blade, eyes alight with both curiosity and excitement, nodding to herself.

…

_ 1144 _

_Hers was an odd name; it fell from his tongue easily, as if he’d been meant to speak it. He hadn’t known such grace in a long while, yet it remained as unnamed and untouchable as the cure for his immortality. Even now, she remained just out of his reach: Vesna. The snow fell and glanced over her lashes, her cheeks, her outstretched hands._

_She was only a name, he told himself; she was a name that he’d forget in a handful of centuries._

_She looked over at him, wrapping her cloak tighter about her shoulders as she stuck her hand into the blanket of snow below to scoop up enough to throw at him. They both laughed when the snowball crashed into the center of his chest, spraying his face with cold bits of ice._

_Then, she was a name with eyes the color of forests he’d once traversed, with dark hair that glowed red in the summer sun, with laughter that followed him through weeks and seasons and years._

_…_

Groggily, Henry managed to open his eyes, taking in the blurred and hazy images around him; there was a car seat in front of him, though it was too dark to make out anything from who was seated there, and his hands were bound tightly behind his back. He heard cursing, and just a little bit of weak moaning, yet his awareness was slipping; warmth flooded his veins and he fought to keep his eyes open, fought to keep his head up as it lolled against his chest.

“I told you not to take a fatal shot! Weaken him! _Weaken him,_ I said! He’ll die before we get there, and we’ll have to deal with…”

….

_ 1151 _

_Vesna aged as all others had; she was only a few years older than he’d been at the start of it all, now, though her wrinkles were far more subtle and her laugh was far tenderer._

_Admittedly, he’d been lonely enough before to recognize the worth of good company now, and while he was anything but a decent man, she was adamant that his heart remained untainted._

_It was a sentiment that comforted him, somehow; it was a sentiment that was spoken with her hand pressed over his heart, which pounded for reasons he was unwilling to investigate._

_Perhaps it was the way she said his name, after years of gleaning the first one he’d ever been given from his secretive, reluctant lips, or the way she asked him about a wife he could barely recall—but something stirred._

_And then, something burned, when she touched his arm with searing fingertips that suddenly weren’t her own, when she looked up with green eyes that had faded to cerulean blue, when the ginger hair that fell over her shoulders turned as deep crimson as all the blood he’d ever seen._

_He always had to look at her twice: first, to tell her a joke or to smile at her, and second, to make sure that he hadn’t just seen Aeliana staring back at him._

_Slowly, Vesna brought memories of Aeliana back to him--in the worst way possible._

_…_

Adam woke to cold water against his bare skin, a familiarity that he would never grow accustomed to, and gasped for air as he swam quickly to the bank; he didn’t know where he was, or what had just happened, but this certainly wasn’t the first time and wasn’t likely to be the last. With his heart racing, the adrenaline made it easier to focus; standing at the water’s edge were two men in some sort of military gear, and as they came into view Adam’s mind, despite the confusion and panic, remembered this game well.

He could overtake one of the men long enough to wound, yet one would shoot him with the gun they carried; so long as he wasn’t dead, he could likely keep on fighting for a couple minutes more. If they killed him, he’d be back in that frigid water, and would have to wound again, and again and again, going through the cycle of resurrection many times over until both men were dead.

His body tensed in preparation as he slowly swam to where they were standing, acting as if he might simply climb out of the water and comply, but at the last moment he saw two more men emerge from a van parked at the edge of the road, far behind them. They were armed, as well, and Adam almost swore. _How inconvenient._ Plan temporarily halted, he relaxed.

One of the men reached down and pulled him to his feet, and any embarrassment Adam might have felt at being naked in front of strangers was long gone. His eyes fell to the man’s exposed throat, where he fleetingly considered striking first, but as the other men came to join them (dressed only in black clothes, rather than armored gear), one shouted out: “I wouldn’t try anything, if I were you. We’ve got those three in the car, and we won’t hesitate to kill any one of them—should you decide to fight us.”

Instantly overwhelmed by dislike and mistrust, Adam rolled his eyes.

“Those three….how specific,” he deadpanned, and water dripped from his hair, irritating his eyes.

The man smirked coldly as he approached, and the one behind him joined the two at Adam’s side; he was surrounded by men who would kill Henry and his friends if Adam so much as moved the wrong way. He could tell, could see it in their eyes: a lust for blood. An itch, really. It was unfortunate that Adam shared the contagious longing—he expected it would turn unfortunate for them all, quite soon, but held steady and kept his expression free of any thought.

The man had very light green eyes and dark hair; the combination gave him an odd, off-putting appearance, but something about his face nagged at some memory that Adam couldn’t place.

“We weren’t supposed to go on this little detour. See, my men thought that letting you bleed out all over the van was a better alternative to merely shooting one of your legs; you wouldn’t have made it to the facility in that shape, so we had to…can we say, refresh you?” he asked laughingly, and Adam bit his tongue to stop himself from telling the man how completely _original_ that was. Sighing, the man slung his gun over his shoulder and grabbed Adam’s arm with an iron grip, pulling him forward as they all started walking toward the van.

“Not in the mood for jokes today-I understand. Once we get you to the car, we’ll sedate you again; that makes it easier on us, if we don’t have to carry you so far,” he explained calmly. Gravel crunched under their feet, and the rocks bit at Adam’s skin; the air around them was silent and still.

One of the men rushed forward to open the door, and Adam took a breath, ready to seize his chance at fleeing, but he caught a glimpse of a gun resting against Abe’s temple; the man in question was sleeping in one of the seats with his hands bound behind him.

Another of the men dressed in black stared out at him from the van, holding the gun with a calm emptiness to his gaze.

Adam worked his jaw in thought, and finally sighed to himself.

_Damn._

The man with green eyes laughed to himself, pulling a syringe from his pocket and injecting Adam with its contents.

It stung, but not as bad as the first time.

…

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I _always_ delete my history. Hell, now I’ve got Chrome—it’s so handy, you know?—and it has this _cognito_ feature that doesn’t even record your history in _the first place_!” Vickie explained in that excited way of hers as she loudly chewed gum beside Silas’ ear. He ran his hand down his face, exasperated, as Sevil laughed to herself and nudged Vickie’s shoulder, at her right.

“It’s _incognito_ , Vickie—and yeah, you’d expect a guy with 2,000 years under his belt to delete his history every now and then,” she agreed softly, staring intently at the screen as Vickie scrolled through pages and pages of archives and records.

Adelaide was seated at the kitchen island, biting her nails.

“Do we know what happened yet?” she asked impatiently, and Silas gave her a withering look.

“Well, considering that all of his recent history is elbow-deep in anything and everything about Nazis, I’d wager that they took him.”

On the island countertop, she’d laid down a single picture; now, she picked it up and sighed to herself.

“I never even got to say hello.”

The man in the grainy, aged picture was dressed in a military uniform from the first world war, one hand placed behind his back as others crowded in on either side, some smiling, others grimacing.

She hadn’t been certain before, but now she was; he was the same man she’d seen walking to his car, and the same she’d seen walking into that antique shop.

…

_ 1159 _

_Distantly, a voice echoed somewhere deep in his mind, persuading him to stay just a little while longer._

_Just a few more years, it begged._

_Even a few more days, Vesna’s eyes pleaded._

_Yet he couldn’t oblige, not matter how badly he wished to stay. He couldn’t watch another friend die—and that’s all she was, or would ever be: a friend._

_He could hardly admit to himself that he was leaving because she reminded him too much of what Aeliana could have been, if she’d only grown old._

_He certainly couldn’t admit it to her; he couldn’t tell her that when he saw her, he saw a dead woman he’d all but forgotten before snowfall and laughter and soft touches._

_He could never tell her that she carried a ghost, and so he had to leave._

_“But I love you,” she whispered in the darkness of night, gloved hands clasping his beneath trees that would likely outlive her, and he felt her heart flutter against the skin of his knuckles, “Please, stay.”_

_He almost kissed the lips that were so close to his, almost wrapped his arms around her and promised never to leave her side, but he only released her hands and bowed his head, praying that she might forgive him._

_He couldn’t love a ghost, and he couldn’t watch Vesna fade into one, either._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	21. Chapter 21

_ 1459 _

_Aleka and Elvia were lovely on their wedding day, dancing around each other without a single care in the world; he wondered when he last was free of any worry, any burden, as he watched them from the crowd that they’d gathered. Alek called out his name in a familiar timbre full of jubilation, beaming over at him with his arm outstretched._

_“_ Join us, Jacob!” _Alek laughed. It was a name he’d rushed to choose, eager to mix well into a new society when he’d moved away from Vesna’s memory, but he knew that he wouldn’t keep it for long. A century or two, perhaps, and then he’d pick up a new one._

_Obliging, he stepped forward and locked hands with his long-time friend, with brown hair and dark eyes, and Elvia swung around to grab his left hand, small fingers flitting over his palm as she found purchase. Her pale hair seemed a ghostly color in the midday light, but her smile was lively and contagious, and before too long he was laughing with her, dancing in circles about the room as every able-bodied guest joined them in celebration._

_…_

Jo opened her eyes and immediately wished she had kept them closed; they were in some sort of laboratory, with various equipment set about the room-for medical use, by the looks of it.

Except—there was blood everywhere. On the floor, on the metal tables, on the tools, and splattered onto the equipment.

A man was shouting at three others, who all wore stained lab coats.

“This should have been spotless hours ago! Clean it up, _now_!”

He was waving his fist in the air, as if he might strike them, but at the last moment he turned away from them, giving his full attention to Jo. She groggily met his eyes and felt more uncomfortable than she had in her entire life, wrists tightly bound above her, head throbbing. She could feel a breeze graze her stomach and looked down to see that they’d left her in only her bra and underwear; feeling the immediate need to cover herself before their watchful attentions, she struggled for a moment, her toes barely touching the ground. As she woke more fully, the smell of the room assailed her senses, her eyes stinging from the overpowering chemicals in the air.

“You’re awake-finally!” the man said, almost cheerfully, and clasped his hands together as he made his way toward her.

She began to shiver.

“I was worried they’d caused some permanent damage, but you _are_ the first to wake up, so I shouldn’t get my hopes up just yet,” he reminded himself, tightly pressing his palms together as he watched her.

 _The first,_ Jo thought. Slowly, she managed to look over and spot Henry and Abe, in a similar position at her side, unconscious. Past them, Adam was in the same state, though there were spots on his skin that looked like bruises.

It unnerved her to see them all like that, to see reckless, brave Henry so vulnerable and defeated. To see wise-cracking Abe reduced to silence. And even to see Adam, infuriatingly untouchable, weakened.

The man must have noticed her wide eyes, or perhaps her trembling arms, because when she looked back at him, he was smiling to himself.

“Yes, I bet this is all pretty confusing-but I don’t want to waste my time explaining it to you—I’ll wait until the rest of them come to, so I only have to say it once.”

He leaned against one of the metal tables and his hand nudged a knife; the blood was slick on the blade, dripping onto the table as if it had just been used.

“The less time I waste, the more fun we can have, but don’t worry,” he said, almost comfortingly, “if all goes as planned, you won’t suffer long.”

…

_ 1469 _

_Alek was lamenting, as he often did, about the absence of children in their house. He could never blame Elvia, for he loved her too dearly to ever even harbor such a thought. Alek only blamed fate and luck and destiny, becoming drunkenly disgruntled about it whenever Jacob invited Alek to drink. Or rather, when he brought the occasion to their doorstep. Yet Alek always obliged, never one to turn away his friend._

_Elvia would even join in and, as scandalous as that might have been, the three had a memorable time. But night was falling, and Alek wouldn’t stop imagining what his children might look like, and Elvia didn’t have the willpower to persuade her husband to come to bed-though she did have the willpower to convince Jacob to stay at their house._

_“Only for a night,” she offered laughingly, arm slung over Alek’s shoulder as she pulled him through the room._

_Jacob had slept in their home far too many times to count, but something in his addled mind chided him for the easy acceptance this time._

Don’t stay _, it whispered to him—_ not tonight _._

_But he did, and that was the last time that he ever ignored that small, weak voice._

_In fact, it was the last time that he ever heard it._

…

Adam woke to the sound of scrubbing and blinked to see several people in lab coats vigorously working at the blood on the concrete floor. The smell was what tipped him off, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught of images and sounds and sensations crawling against his skin. The scalpel blade was in his mind’s eyes, Mengele’s intrigued, satisfied smile not far behind.

Adam had never really gotten over his time at the camp; he had perhaps moved past that place of vulnerability, in order to be stronger, in order to survive, but he hadn’t moved past the nightmares and the flashbacks. He still could hear a child scream (in joy, in surprise—it didn’t matter) and think for a moment that he was back, huddled on wet straw with his hands clasped over his ears, trembling against the cold as his heart raced in fear.

Quite a few years ago, a young woman, rolling a stubbornly sobbing infant in a stroller, had touched his arm and asked if he was alright; he’d gone still and pale at the sound and hadn’t noticed.

“You’re looking lively over there, aren’t you?” a man’s voice reached past the images flashing behind Adam’s eyelids, and he opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Henry, strung up beside him in nothing but his underwear, the scar of his first death pale and puckered against the skin of his chest; he was breathing hard, likely nervous, and staring ahead of him.

Adam followed his gaze to see a man in a lab coat, leaning against a metal table; the men stood from the floor, content with their work, and rolled out several mops, buckets, and cleaning sprays as they left the room.

One person stayed behind to guard the door, it seemed: the man with the green eyes. Adam watched him for a moment longer than necessary; he’d be one of the first to die, if it ever came to that.

Adam hoped he’d be able to make good on that promise.

“I was just…admiring the scenery,” Adam said finally, leveling the man at the table with a cold stare.

He noticed that Jo and Abe were similarly bound at Henry’s side; the four of them made for a nice execution line, Adam thought sourly.

…

_ 1469 _

_Jacob was startled from sleep by the sound of Elvia screaming, his pulse racing as he jumped from the covers to rush to their room; shadows played tricks on him, moonlight shining against bodies, but he could just make out the shape of a man fighting what looked like Alek, and Elvia shouting for help in the corner, her small frame hunched in fear._

_At this point, he had become nearly addicted to the rush of a fight, the touch of death’s fingertips as it tried to seize him, and Alek needed his help._

_It was a convenient combination, then, that he was too weak to resist, and so he hurried into the scuffle, but in the darkness it was difficult to tell friend from foe; he could be fighting the intruder one moment and hesitating in the next-it was all happening too fast, the three of them all but dancing around one another as their fists connected with flesh. Jacob was thrown to the floor and gasped for breath as someone loomed over him, but Alek tackled the man to the ground and they rolled, grappling for some kind of victory._

_He remembered the sword Alek kept by the bed and quickly went to get it, turning with it in hand-just in time to see the two men coming his way, locked together as they struggled._

_He had no issues with killing, either; it was something he’d learned was a necessity._

_It was also quite an excitement, but he always tried to quell that part of himself, unwilling to admit that he so enjoyed such a morbidly-earned thrill._

_He’d always had to fight to survive, and killing was simply a natural part of that; it was impossible to defend yourself for a thousand years without shedding blood._

_The sword ran cleanly through the man, and he gasped for a moment before falling to the floor, heavy and unmoving._

_Jacob went to help Alek up from where he’d been struggling, but realized that the shadows looked different on his face; a moment longer, and he felt sick, adrenaline still coursing through his veins._

_He’d just killed Alek._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since the last update--things have been craaaazy.
> 
> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	22. Chapter 22

_ 1470 _

_When he was alone, he couldn't get Alek's face out of his mind; it was impossible to wipe away the memory, as he'd taught himself to do many times before. It was impossible to erase, and stubbornly aggravated his thoughts when he needed sleep the most._

_Elvia's horrified screams, the way her tiny fists hit at his chest, the way Alek's blood pooled upon the floor—it never left him._

_He'd been entirely unable to forget the shame and guilt that followed him like a second shadow, clinging to his skin. He'd never return, that he knew. He would never be able to face her, to face her rage and her sorrow, and so he moved on with his never-ending life._

_Out of all the despairing moments he'd fallen into, he'd rarely felt so adamant about the curse of immortality as he did then._

_Alek was the last person he ever tried to save._

….

"If I was an evil neo-Nazi, where would I hide?" Adelaide asked herself, her arm slung over her face as she lounged on the couch. Beside her, Vickie was hard at work hacking every piece of technology the police department had, it seemed. Or it seemed to take just as long, Silas thought tiredly as he sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.

"We've only wondered that about, oh, a thousand times. We'd have her here with us if we knew where they've been holed up all this time…like rats, really," came his muffled and annoyed response, "ugly, disgusting little rats."

The laptop and dagger rested on their kitchen counter; they'd gleaned all they could from the computer, and Vickie had used her own to hack the system.

Felix, pulling some leftover burgers out of the fridge and tossing one to an eager Tafari, sighed to himself.

"Vickie, you got anything on the cameras?" he asked, tired of Silas' whining.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm just...," she trailed off, furiously typing something, and Sevil watched from her seat on the floor, smiling absently, "I'm just trying to figure out where they went aft—ah!"

Everyone in the room straightened, both startled and hopeful by her exclamation. Adelaide jumped up from the couch and pressed herself against Vickie's shoulder, trying to peer in at the screen.

"They went to this private airport, real fancy-schmancy by the looks of it," she explained, eyes narrowed in concentration as she tried to make out the name of the air strip.

And suddenly, they were all rushing out of the house, hopping into an old Ford Focus and a muddy Jeep, pouring out into the street at speeds they hoped they wouldn't get pulled over for.

Felix and Tafari clung to their cold burgers in the backseat, knowing they'd need the energy later.

…

"I owe a lot to your friends here; without them, I doubt we would have been able to find you so soon," the man began as he pushed away from the table, circling them all like some sort of observant predator, "We were of course keeping a close eye on Griffin, after news of the case broke. And then, he received two random visitors, working on a case completely unrelated to him—at least, that's what the rest of the NYPD thinks. But no, I saw an opportunity. So, I waited…and we watched the two of you."

He gestured to Jo and Henry, smiling.

"We saw you," he looked at Adam, tilting his head, "ah—what should I call you?"

Adam bit his tongue, an endless list of names running through his head along with a second endless list of expletives that he could toss around; finally, he took a calming breath.

"Adam," he offered simply, and the man nodded, failing to see the same irony in the name that Henry had. But then again, Adam didn't feel like explaining it this time.

"We saw you, Adam, talking with Henry—on enough occasions to warrant our interest, at least. See, the break-in was just a ploy; those men had orders to kill you, but they clearly didn't have the skillset. Luckily, I still had men stationed outside the antique shop, and they saw you, looking like death itself, go into that shop—and someone else watched you emerge from the river. So, it all worked out in the end, though the detour you took to the shop was definitely unplanned. It did give me an opportunity that I hadn't planned on, though," he finished, a satisfied smile splitting across his features in a way that reminded Adam of Mengele.

No, this would definitely _not_ be a good day.

Bitterly, and with as much disinterest as he could force, Adam questioned, "And what opportunity is that?"

The man gestured to the equipment that waited before them, unfazed by the ice in Adam's voice.

"The opportunity for your full cooperation-because, without it, your friends die."

…

_ 1559 _

_There was blood on his skin: thick, bright arterial spray that dripped down his forearms and pooled on the ground. The men that had attacked him were sprawled out, dead, around him, with the exception of one-young, hardly old enough to be making a career out of robbing random men in the street. His breaths were uneven and his eyes were wide and glistening; his hands were bound behind his back, and he was struggling to get away, pushing against the ground as he tried to stand._

_He hardly noticed the boy attempting to escape; he was only focused on the aching pounding of his heart. It made him feel more alive than he'd felt in a long while, and an absent smile creased his mouth. He knew that he'd kill the thief, but it was just a matter of when and how. He could take his time, something he'd never tried before. He could finally accept the thrill, if it brought him closer to feeling alive._

_The boy made a whimpering sound._

_…_

"Though I feel a little unsure about what will become of this one if we kill him," the man continued easily, nearing Henry so that he could run his fingers over the obvious scar on his chest. Henry held his breath, grinding his teeth together. It wasn't the first time he'd been tied up with someone intent on doing him harm, but it was the first time that Abe and Jo had joined him. Their safety was priority, and Henry was nearly sick with worry over their fate; men like this were not kind, and they definitely weren't merciful.

And he could tell by the unnerving flash of panic in Adam's eyes that this was a very, very bad way to die. To witness Adam in such a state was enough to make his stomach churn with anxiety and fear.

"This scar reminds me of yours, Adam—have you found another immortal for us? Three's a party, right?" he asked, smiling, and was answered by confused silence.

Knowingly, he shrugged to himself, and Adam wondered if the Nazis had found a third immortal. And how they had found one-well, Adam didn't want to know, judging by the copious amounts of blood they'd woken up to see.

He didn't have time for excitement, or awe, or even any natural doubts; he only had time to focus on the man's next words as he effortlessly continued.

"We'll figure that out when we get there, I suppose, but Adam, and I mean this in all seriousness, if you refuse to cooperate in any way-if you fight, if you resist-one of them dies."

Adam wouldn't have cared; Henry could handle anything and Abe and Jo were expendable.

They certainly weren't more important than all the years Adam had spent trying to avoid ending up in such a situation, with scalpels and metal tables and men who smiled when he screamed.

Instinctively, Adam almost told the man to go ahead and kill them, if it meant that he might have a chance to fight and escape.

It would be a shame, certainly. Abe had endured so much in his life and hardly deserved such an ending; Jo seemed too lively, filled with so much potential, to be killed in a laboratory.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Henry, whose own eyes were shining with tears; his expression was entirely open, and it made Adam hesitate.

He'd hardly seen Henry look so vulnerable and exposed; he'd certainly never be caught dead looking like that.

"Adam," Henry breathed shakily, likely realizing that Adam hardly had a problem with such a dilemma of self-preservation.

His voice was weak and terrified and almost plaintive, as if he was already mourning the loss of his son and partner.

Suddenly, Adam wasn't bound in that cold room. He was in Aeliana's arms as she begged him not to go to Caesar's aid. He was looking up into Absolon's naïve eyes, overwhelmed by the effort of staying hopeful. He was clinging to Ida as she begged him to abandon her in those ancient woods. He was captivated by the pound of Vesna's heart as she pressed his arms to her chest, holding him back. He was staring at Elvia's horror-stricken gaze in the silence of that night.

Feeling nauseous, Adam could only weakly stare at Henry; he hadn't remembered so much in such a long time, and he slowly pushed the faded, distant emotions away.

Logic pulled him back to the edge of reality, where he always seemed to reside nowadays; he knew that if he let Abe and Jo die, Henry would never, ever forgive him. He could possibly forgive Abigail's death, but this would crush him.

Then, a familiar, warring voice chimed in: if he let Abe and Jo's deaths be the catalyst for Henry's turn to cynicism, then they'd be one step closer to Henry finally understanding Adam's point of view.

Torn, Adam watched Henry silently plead with him; he was unable to meet Abe and Jo's gazes without stretching, and it was nearly impossible after being so weakened by their prolonged positions in the air.

It was a real, true effort to refuse his basic instinct, to settle for whatever hell might come instead of trying his absolute best to avoid it; it was the only thing that made sense, he told himself.

It wasn't so that he might have the chance to get in on one of Abe's jokes, or that he might be able to start an argument with Jo for the hilarity of seeing her frustrated, or that Henry might one day, finally, want to hear Adam's story.

It was the only decision that even remotely kept him in Henry's favor, or rather, tolerance, in the end. So, he sighed to himself, defeated. He hadn't been defeated in over sixty years.

"Do you agree?" the man asked, eager to hear Adam's decision.

"…Yes," Adam answered coolly.

He allowed himself a moment to feel proud; he had sounded entirely fearless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.


	23. Chapter 23

_ 1680 _

_His name had been Matthew for ten years, but that was almost as long as he dared to keep still, to keep up appearances in a town that was ever watchful. With so many of its residents perishing from either illness or the unforgiving winters, it was almost too easy to notice the undeniable perseverance of one man._

_The water felt icy against Matthew's skin as he gasped, blinking in shock and shaking from the chill; a chuckle sounded a few feet ahead, and he glanced up from where he'd been hacking away at the frosted ground. He'd been trying to dig a grave in the dead of winter, his hands reddened and cracked in places. Despite his deep familiarity with the changing seasons, the elements still found a way to hurt his skin._

_Tobias stood in front of him with a self-satisfied smirk etched onto his usually stony features, an empty pail swaying in his grasp. He pressed a hand flat against the belt at his hip, as he often did, and shook his burly head with faked disapproval._

_"You ought to be more careful, son—wouldn't want to catch ill, in this kind of weather…" he shook his head and dropped the pail, turning away._

_"Don't want all of Salem to watch you die, now—would you, boy?" he called as the distance between them grew, and Matthew watched, cold beads of water dripping from his hair, shivering and furious._

_Tobias had known his secret for the better part of a year now and he liked to dangle the threat over Matthew's head like some ominous reminder; he liked to do whatever he wanted, actually, and toying with someone who wouldn't dare fight back was exactly that._

_He could kill Tobias—easily, in fact. He'd murdered enough people to hone a certain skill, but Tobias' death would cause a stir in the town. No one would miss him; Tobias was a largely disliked bully with too much money for his own good. The people would notice his absence all the same, though._

_And a stir in Salem was something he'd been desperately trying to avoid._

_ 1914 _

_"Seems to me like you'd be shitting yourself right about now, but you ain't even shaking from the cold. What's wrong with ya?" asked one of the soldiers crouched down beside him, someone with a name like Bobby or Robbie or something that rhymed with it. He could never quite recall._

_He stared straight ahead, at all of the other young soldiers with blood on their chins because they were biting their lips so hard. Bobby nudged him in the shoulder, shouting over the rain and crash of the waves hitting at their backs._

_"Ay, Adam! I asked you a question, man—aren't ya scared?"_

_It was a question born more from a desperate desire for reassurance and comfort than anything else, but Adam knew that he had none to offer the boy. They'd all die, more than likely._

_He turned and gave the soldier a withering stare, but Bobby was either ignorant or brave, for Adam's withering stares had turned lesser men pale with fear._

_He cocked his head and smiled to himself, though his lips trembled from the cold and whatever fear he still felt._

_"Well, I sure am scared shitless, I'll tell ya that!" he laughed shakily, but Adam could hardly hear it._

_He was too focused on the nearing blasts of gunfire that echoed from the shore._

_From the look in Bobby's eyes, he heard it too; it was the last time Adam saw him smile._

…

"How long are they going to wait, huh? They're keeping you in suspense to mess with your head," Abe whispered weakly as he sat in his cell with his back against the barred wall. Henry, seated similarly in the adjacent cell, closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against them, frustrated and worried. He knew that Abe was right; it was only a matter of time before they finished whatever they were doing to Adam and came for him instead, now that his secret was as exposed as his scar had been to their prying eyes.

"I know, Abe," he murmured, opening his eyes to take in the same walls he'd known for days.

It had been one week since that vulnerable, fateful day of their capture, and Henry was glad to see Jo and Abe well and unharmed, though poorly fed. Adam, on the other hand, hadn't been so lucky.

For seven near-sleepless nights, they'd all lain on the chilled concrete floor and listened to his various tortures; Henry could never figure out what they were doing to him. Later, they'd drag him down the long hall from the experimentation room and toss him into the cell across from Henry. He was always naked and soaked to the bone, water dripping from his hair as he shivered. They'd given him a blanket on the first night, which he always clung to with a near animalistic fervor, his fingers trembling as he scrambled back to sit against the far wall, hiding in the shadows of the cell.

He hadn't spoken a word to any of them, despite Henry's questions.

In the cell beside Adam's, Jo sat with her arms wrapped around her torso. It was thankfully warm wherever they were, but a chill still swept over them every now and then. With the exception of Adam, they'd been given thick hospital gowns and socks, yet that did little for their comfort. Henry was starting to grow concerned for all of them: Abe was in no shape to have the added physical strain of imprisonment, Jo was already looking restless and unsettled, Adam looked terrifying, and Henry's own body could fail him quite soon.

The "scientists" had been sure to avoid feeding him; they'd acted as if, since he was immortal, he didn't need food and only needed enough water to keep him alive. It was miserable.

They didn't feed Adam either, since they just killed him whenever they were done with him and plucked him out of whatever river they must have been near. Abe had offered Adam his food the other day, but Adam had silently refused it.

Henry looked at Adam's empty cell, listening to the eerie silence of the hall; the experiments must have ended. Adam would be back any minute, and the scientists would be back with him, back to taunt Henry with the threat of their presence.

He frowned, imagining it with a heavy sense of dread; he hated being so weakened, so powerless. What made it worse-though he'd never admit it out loud-was that Adam had been made that way, too. Ever since Henry had met Adam, he'd been a formidable immortal with a constant upper hand, never a vulnerable, trembling shadow huddled against the wall. Henry, despite himself and all his bittersweet memories of Abigail, felt pity for Adam. It wasn't a new feeling by any means; he'd pitied Adam when he first learned of his time in Auschwitz, but that hadn't lasted very long. Any sympathy had flown out the window the moment he discovered that Abigail's killer had been right under his nose the entire time.

 _But he didn't kill her_ , said an argumentative voice in his head that sounded a lot like Adam.

Henry recalled their last therapy session and how nonchalant Adam had been about the entire situation; he ground his teeth together, pressing the back of his head against the wall. It wasn't enough that Adam suffered now. It wasn't enough that he'd saved Abe and Jo. Nothing could ever make it right.

The steel double doors at the end of the hall swung open and slammed against the walls as two men dragged Adam, who never struggled, to his cell, trails of water left in his wake as his feet loosely grazed the concrete. The scientists opened the cell door and tossed him in; he made a noise as he fell, but it was more surprised than pained. The men were both dressed the same: dark, likely armored military gear and black helmets with tinted shields covering their eyes. They reminded him of motorcycle helmets. They each had a gun and knife holstered at their hips, yet Henry had never heard any shots fired during his stay.

One was leaning against the bars of Adam's cell as he spoke in a muffled voice with the man locking the door; he turned and gave Henry an assessing look.

"When did he say to bring _him_ in?" he asked, never taking his eyes from Henry.

"In a couple days, I think. I don't know-my shift changes after today so I didn't pay attention when he told us."

"Shit. I don't want to ask him to repeat himself. You know how he'll react."

They hurried off to presumably solve their dilemma and Henry was left alone to contemplate; he had two days.

Suddenly, a cold reality set in.

…

Day eight, and already Adam was growing restless inside. He thrust out his hands so that they'd hit the hard floor before his face did as the guards tossed him into his cell. Adrenaline singing his veins, he could feel his heart pounding; he'd never get used to the familiar rush of basic, instinctual terror.

Each time they plucked him from the river, his first thought was only of safety and defense, but he always had to drown out such foolish notions. He had to focus on Henry-Henry and Abe and Jo. He had to forget every single lesson he'd learned, had to swallow any and all urges to fight, and had to completely deny that part of him that yearned to be free from the primal torment.

Scrambling against the concrete floor, he gasped, water dripping down his face. His nerves were shot to hell, or maybe even a place far beyond hell, and his fingers had taken to shaking at all hours of the day. His broken composure was genuine, despite his efforts to keep a strong poker face; the refreshed memories of Auschwitz and the routine tortures kept him wide awake during the nights and trembling during the daylight hours. It was something that couldn't be overcome or outsmarted. It was falling back into his darkest nightmares, trapped in a web of his own making.

If not for his attachment to Henry, he would never have accepted defeat. If not for his foolishness, he could have avoided the situation entirely.

Huddled against the wall, he brought his knees up to his chest and sighed shakily, closing his eyes. He'd been naïve to believe that saving Abe and Jo would ever bring Henry closer; he'd ruined those chances long ago. Yet, something stubbornly held firm, some misguided belief—like the kind he'd grown to ignore.

But Adam, for whatever reason, couldn't quite ignore this one.

He opened his eyes to the sound of Henry's voice, coated with desperation and even a bit of concern.

"Adam, please—answer me. As much as I dislike the idea, we all have to work together to get out of here. It's our only chance," Henry whispered urgently.

Blinking out of whatever trance he'd been in, Adam glanced up and noticed that the guards who'd just dropped him off had gone, thankfully. The four of them were left alone in their cells, and Henry was across from Adam, pressed against the door of his cell with his hands wrapped tightly around the bars, his knuckles white. He'd clearly been trying to reach Adam for a while now, and his gaze lit up with hope once he noticed Adam's focus. Adam thought that he probably hadn't truly focused in days.

"Adam! We have to do it tomorrow—when the guards come. We have to find a way to.." Henry faltered, his face falling at the realization that he was going to have to fight his way out, "—kill them, all of them," Abe finished, sure and certain. He stared at Adam from the cell beside Henry's, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his shoulders hunched from either cold or fear—Adam couldn't tell.

A voice beside Adam, familiar yet weakened, shakily agreed.

"It's our best chance, when they're here to pick Henry up. Catch them by surprise, work together, get their weapons," Jo explained in a hushed tone, "..escape, generally."

Adam turned his head to look at her, with her unkempt hair and wild, dark eyes, her skin pale and unhealthy from the mistreatment. They were all staring at Adam as if he had the answers; suddenly, Adam remembered something that Jo had said, piercing through the fog in his mind.

He glanced at Henry, tilting his head.

"They're taking you?" Adam asked softly, but it was by no means a kind tone.

Henry, picking up on the sneaking hostility in Adam's voice, swallowed nervously and nodded, never taking his eyes away from Adam's.

"Either tomorrow or the next day, the guard said."

Adam crawled forward, his knees scraping against the chilled concrete floor as he shifted the blanket around his shoulders, covering himself before he snuck into the dim light and wrapped a hand around the bars, mirroring Henry's position.

There was something ancient and smooth about the way Adam moved then, Henry thought. He hadn't quite witnessed it before, hadn't really seen the age in Adam. He'd never been angry at Henry before, not really. He'd been annoyed and teasing and cold, but he hadn't been furious. Not like he was now.

Adam's eyes were wide and his fingers trembled, his breathing shallow.

Henry scooted back, despite the protection of the bars; a shiver went through him. The pressure must have been getting to Adam, he thought. Adam was merely exhausted and stressed, nothing more.

"So you would plead for an escape route, only when the threat of torture is aimed at you—is that right?" Adam asked calmly, never blinking.

Henry shook his head frantically, his grasp on the cell bars tightening with a spike of fear.

"No, that's not what I—I just meant that…we need to escape," he tried to explain, but Adam chuckled to himself.

"We've always needed to escape—forget it, it's done," Adam finished in a clipped tone. He let out an uneven breath and released his grip on the bars, shaking his head as he pulled the scratchy blanket tighter about his shoulders.

"I've been planning an escape for days now, but these things take time. You can't just decide that you're going to escape tomorrow morning; you have to observe the enemy and plan around their weaknesses. We only get one shot at this, you know," he reprimanded coolly, looking to Abe and Jo with a disapproving expression coming over his features.

They were just surprised that he was talking; he hadn't spoken or moved in the eight days they'd been locked up. He'd just stayed in that corner, huddled and trembling.

Jo spoke up first, since Henry was still reeling from the implication that he could be so selfish.

"So, what's your plan?" she asked confidently, knowing that, despite his personality and his penchant for cruelty, Adam was an excellent schemer.

He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye, nearly acknowledging her specific brand of sudden approval, but he just sat back on his heels and stared at Henry instead.

"One of the usual guards won't be here tomorrow morning; he's switching shifts with this newer guard that transferred from somewhere—I only heard them talking about it when the doctor was taking a break from his experimentation with me," he spoke of the experience with a frown on his face, "Anyway, the other guard has a habit of leaning against Jo's cell door while the first guard takes me out of mine—a rookie mistake, really. So, when this happens tomorrow, I'll take down the new guard after he opens my door, and Jo can hold off the one that leans against her cell until I can dispatch him. The goal is to keep his hands away from his weapons," Adam explained to Jo calmly, "so hold him against the bars however you like—just don't let him get to his gun or knife."

Jo nodded, attentive and determined, and Abe cleared his throat in the ensuing quiet.

"And…what are we supposed to do?" he asked, staring at Adam expectantly.

"You wait until I've taken care of them, then I'll get the key and free us. We can dress in their clothes as a disguise and take the compound from the inside."

"So, I'm guessing this involves a lot of killing and bullets, right?" Abe continued, "Well, I've got news for you: Jo and I aren't bulletproof; it only takes one stray shot to ruin our day. So, I think we should wear the disguises, and you and Henry can figure it out, yeah?"

Henry and Adam shared a look and an agreement passed between them; this agreement, unbeknownst to Henry, relied upon Henry killing to defend them. Adam briefly wondered if Henry would be able to even do it, to take another life—despite the necessary, do or die circumstances.

When Henry moved his gaze to Jo for some kind of motivated, concerned feeling, Adam kept watching him. He wasn't certain that Henry would pass this test, wasn't confident that they'd all get out unscathed. It was imperative that Henry not falter when they put their plan into action; any hesitation could mean death for their mortal companions.

And it would definitely mean endless torture for Adam and even Henry.

He was so naïve and had always been—this was no exception. Henry had no idea what horrors awaited him past those steel doors. Adam knew all too well, which was why he was confident that he wouldn't make a mistake when the time came. Henry, however, could easily mess things up. Adam only hoped that he was mistaken in his doubt.

Nodding at Abe, Henry smiled. It was an old, familiar smile that Abe remembered from his childhood. It was a protective gesture, an attempt to conceal Henry's true anxiety for the sake of his son.

"Of course, Abraham," Henry reassured gently.

Jo watched the pair from across the hall, resting her cheek against one of the cell bars, wondering if they were ever going to escape, wondering if she'd ever get to investigate another case with Henry, or lose at a game of chess with Abe. She wondered if she'd ever share an early morning cup of coffee with Reece, or tease Hanson about his wife, or even pretend to be overly bothered by Lucas' extensive knowledge of serial killers.

What if it never happened again?

Somehow, Jo knew that she understood Adam's ferocity just a bit more; if she'd been through hell, she'd do nearly anything to avoid being taken back.

And when the time came to take down the guards, Jo knew that she'd do anything to protect Abe and Henry from the same fate.

Adam retreated to his familiar corner, crossing his arms over his chest to stop from shivering; he was still wet from the river. They all left him alone after that, knowing that he was hardly in a mood to continue a conversation. They probably thought that he was thinking about the laboratory and all the time he'd spent in it thus far, but in reality Adam was thinking of a new, secret plan: one that might actually work.

_ 1918 _

_The soldiers crowded around him, some with limps and most with blood spotting their skin. Despite their exhaustion, their cheers were refreshed and lively; they threw up their helmets in celebration._

_The war was over, and he was part of the winning side—however much of them had survived, that is. He didn't recognize any of the faces around him, and almost wished that he did. He almost wished that he could spot a face in the crowd and remember him from that first day of gunfire and smoke. He wished that he could recognize a kindred spirit, a survivor._

_There was no one, and Adam's relief faltered; he was alone, in a sea of bodies that would never know._

_"Come on, come on! " one of the commanders shouted, dragging a camera along with him, which was linked to three wooden stilts that had definitely seen better days, "Stay still now—ay! Don't look so serious…We just won the war, boys!"_

_Cheers and whistles erupted around Adam, and the high of the moment lifted his spirits, albeit briefly._

_He wouldn't remember how it felt, to be victorious in a righteous cause—to be freed of such needless violence and death._

_Adam would soon forget how it felt to have his comrades' arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as they posed in front of the commander, all silly grins and dirty faces, grateful for the end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm sooooo sorry that it's been so long since my last update. Besides laziness and writer's block, I've been pretty busy with some life changes. But ugh there's no excuse. :( I haven't abandoned this, though! I hope to return to updating semi-regularly from now on, if anyone out there is even still interested in this fic, haha.
> 
> Please R&R! Any feedback is always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> All rights go to their respective owners. Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)


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